


Part of Your World

by Jenetica



Series: Hook, Line, and Sinker [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Home Improvement, M/M, Merman Scott, Merman Sheriff, Merman Stiles, Sex Talk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-04 14:11:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1781929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenetica/pseuds/Jenetica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's a werewolf. Stiles is a merman. They're not supposed to work.</p><p>Luckily, they're both determined to prove that particular fact false.</p><p>Sequel to "Sea Foam and Sunshine."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Some Assembly Required

**Author's Note:**

> At last, the sequel. I'm sorry, this took longer than expected, but real life happened, plus I fell into the Spider-Man fandom (which is pathetically small) and it took me writing a 24,000 word fanfic to get it out of my system. But hey, if you're into kinky het smut between Peter Parker and his badass girlfriend, that exists now. 
> 
> Also, I would like to kick this fic off by saying how eternally and wholly amazed I am at the feedback to Sea Foam and Sunshine. I never expected my rinky-dink little mermaid!AU to become my second-most popular story ever, but it has. You guys are the best.

"Derek!"  
  
Derek looks out over the ocean and sees Stiles waving at him. He returns the wave. Stiles grins and ducks beneath the surface and less than a minute later, he pulls up in the shallows. "Derek, I got it! Did you bring the stuff?"  
  
Derek gestures down to the bag at his feet. "It's all there. It's Isaac's, by the way. He says hi."  
  
"If all goes well, I'll say hi back," Stiles says excitedly. He's wearing his belt, which has a pouch so Stiles can carry things while he swims. From it he withdraws a handful of dark weeds.  
  
Dremora. It's a plant that magically splits merfolk fins into legs, transforming them into humans for a short time. They'd only discovered its existence a couple weeks ago, but it means that Stiles can walk around just like a normal person until the effects wear off. And now Stiles has some. Derek's insides twist in nervous anticipation. This is it.  
  
“You’re sure you want to do this?” Derek checks nervously. They have no idea what the process of transformation is, or if it has side effects, or anything. They know almost nothing about this plant, other than it gives Stiles legs for a little while. “Doesn’t it seem, I don’t know, risky?”  
  
Stiles shrugs. “We won’t know anything until we try it,” he points out. “Worst case scenario, nothing happens.”  
  
“No, worst case scenario is it’s secretly poison and you die,” Derek says. “Or you get stuck halfway between merman and human and can’t get out of it.”  
  
“So I’d be a merman-man,” Stiles jokes. Derek shoots him a look and he sighs. “Come on, Derek. That’s not going to happen. It took me days to find a good crop of this plant, and now you want to flake out? We have to try it.”  
  
“We don’t,” Derek grumbles, but Stiles is right. He didn’t have these concerns before now; it’s cold feet, nothing more. “Fine, do it. It’s your own damn fault if you die.”  
  
Stiles breathes deeply, once, and pops the mess of weed into his mouth. He grimaces at the taste but continues chewing until it's all gone. "That was awful."  
  
Derek swallows and crosses his arms to avoid wringing his hands together like a neurotic housewife. "How long does it take to kick in?"  
  
"Dad said it all depends," Stiles says, shrugging. "I think we just wait and see."  
  
Derek bites at his cheek to wrestle his wolf back into submission. Whenever he gets this wound up it's hard to control the shift. He wants to tear into a forest and run until he collapses from exhaustion, but he can't. Stiles needs him.  
  
"Oh, that's weird," Stiles says, shivering. "I think I should come ashore." He makes it about three feet before he cries out in pain. Derek gasps and races into the water so he can pull Stiles up the sand.  
  
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Stiles whimpers. Derek falls to the sand next to him and casts about uselessly. Stiles grasps at Derek's arm and squeezes hard. "Ow, fucking shit."  
  
Derek sucks in a breath. Stiles' scarlet, gleaming scales are receding before his very eyes, pushing slowly into Stiles' skin.  It looks excruciating. Slowly, Stiles' caudal fin folds over itself and fuses, and the divide in the middle splits, sliding up Stiles' tail. "Jesus," Derek whispers. Stiles' caudal fin expands, plumping up into unmistakable feet. Stiles' new toes curl in pain as the muscles of his tail rip apart and curl around calves, knees, and thighs. Stiles screams and his grey skin explodes with pink, and he falls unconscious.  
  
"Shit," Derek mutters, swallowing around his panic. He slaps lightly at Stiles' face. "Fuck, Stiles? Stiles, are you okay?"  
  
A minute or so later, Stiles blinks his eyes open. Derek sucks in another breath: Stiles' eyes have darkened to warm brown and are framed by thick, dark eyelashes. "Wow, that sucked."  
  
"But it worked," Derek says. "Stiles, you're human."  
  
Stiles gasps and shuffles up onto his elbows. Derek takes the opportunity to look Stiles over. His hair is dark like his eyelashes and short, and Derek wants to run his hands through it to see how soft it's gotten. His lips are delicate and pink, pulling up to expose even, rounded teeth. His arm and legs are long, lean, and covered with dark hair. Who'd have expected smooth, slick Stiles to be so hairy? Derek tries to keep his eyes from the line of dark hair on Stiles' stomach and fails miserably. His neck heats and blood pools at his groin. Well, then.  
  
Apparently Stiles' gaze followed the same path. " _What the fuck is that?_ "  
  
Derek hadn't really gotten around to telling Stiles about human genitalia yet. "That's… uh, called a penis."  
  
Stiles pokes at it and Derek chokes on air. "That's great, and all, but what _is it_?"  
  
Wow, that cliff face sure is interesting. "It's a sex organ. It's how we reproduce."  
  
"Oh!" Stiles says delightedly. "This is a sex thing! What about these things under it?"  
  
"Those too, yeah," Derek says, sounding strangled. "I think it's safe to say that entire region is involved."  
  
"Oh, what about, uh." Stiles shifts and Derek doubles his efforts to memorize the pattern of cracks in the rock. He's offended someone in a previous life, hasn't he? He's done something cosmically wrong to deserve this. "I found it! So that's an asshole, huh? I thought it'd be bigger."  
  
Derek makes a sound like a dying whale. "Stiles, please," he croaks, "for the love of everything holy, stop."  
  
Stiles, to his credit, stops instantly. "Am I doing something wrong? I'm sorry, this is just so weird."  
  
Derek sighs and manages to give him a tight smile. "No, I— you're fine. It's just that, um, people don't really explore, uh, _that area_ so openly. It's private."  
  
"That's why you wear clothes," Stiles says, like he's just now realizing it. "I always thought it was just to keep you warm. I won't do it again. So, wait, this is how sex happens? Does everyone have a whatchamacallit?"  
  
"Let's get you dressed," Derek says, "then we discuss 'whatchamacallits' and how we use them."  
  
They get Stiles into a set of boxers, which takes far more effort on Derek's part than he's comfortable with. Stiles tries four times to stand before he succeeds, and even then he's wobbly on his feet. Derek lets Stiles lean into his side as he teaches him how to walk.  
  
"You know," Stiles says after a few laps around the cove, "toes are really useful. Look at those little champs. I take back my previous assessment."  
  
"Glad you approve," Derek replies. "Are you ready to try on your own?"  
  
"Ready as I'll ever be."  
  
He falls after three steps, and Derek barely hides his chuckle. Stiles sticks his tongue out at him, and makes grabby hands until Derek pulls him upright. Stiles wraps his arms around Derek's neck and leans against his chest.  
  
"This is the first time I've ever looked you in the eye like this," he says softly. Derek wraps his arms around Stiles' waist and brushes off the sand he finds there. Stiles' skin is warm and soft under his fingertips. "I'm really happy I can share this with you."  
  
God, Stiles isn't just gorgeous, he's _breathtaking_. Derek kisses him, overwhelmed with how lucky he is. Stiles angles his head and opens under Derek, and Derek feels webless fingers spear through his hair. The kiss heats quickly. Stiles pushes up against Derek insistently until Derek can feel hardness rubbing at the crease of his hip. He growls and lowers his hands to the curve of Stiles' ass. Stiles gasps and presses harder into Derek wantonly.  
  
When Derek finally breaks the kiss, they're both red and panting. Stiles' lips are swollen and bruised, and it makes Derek positively hungry. He tucks his face into Stiles' neck and works to get himself under control.  
  
"Fuck," Stiles says, resting his chin on Derek's shoulder. "Was that sex?"  
  
Derek laughs and it comes out mangled. "No."  
  
Stiles pulls back and frowns. "But," he glances down at where Derek's shorts are tented. "But the thing. And your thing. Did a thing."  
  
Derek whines high in his throat and Stiles looks alarmed. "Hey, Derek, are you okay?"  
  
Derek can do this. He _can_. "I'm fine," he grinds out. "No, that's not sex, it's what comes before sex. Sex is better."  
  
"Well we should do that, then," Stiles says matter-of-factly. "What do I do?"  
  
Should anyone ever question Derek's willpower again, he'll use this moment as Exhibit A. "No, Stiles," he says, stepping back. "We're not going to have sex. Not right now. Right now, we're going to get you walking, then we're going to try running, sitting, standing, and jumping. We're going to do this properly."  
  
Stiles looks like he wants to argue, but he shifts his balance and falls over. It breaks the tension settling over the cove, and Derek can breathe again. "Fine," Stiles grumbles, "but it's happening eventually. You, me, and these weebus things."  
  
God have mercy on Derek's soul.  
  
They manage to get Stiles comfortable moving in his human body, but it takes the entire four hours they're granted by the effects of the Dremora plant. As soon as Stiles' legs start to tingle he pulls off his boxers and dives into the surf, and when he comes back up he's the grey-skinned, pointy-toothed merman Derek knows and loves.  
  
It's easier to talk to Stiles about sex, now that he doesn't have a dick Derek would love to get to know personally. They lie in the surf while Derek explains the difference between men and women both physiologically and sexually. Stiles asks question after question, and Derek does his best to answer them all.  
  
"What about when two guys like each other? Or two girls? They can still have sex, right? Like us, we can have sex?"  
  
"Yeah," Derek says, "it just won't let us reproduce."  
  
"Well, that's okay," Stiles says agreeably. "I doubt we'd even be able to.”  
  
“Do you want kids?” Derek asks, turning on his side to look at Stiles. “I mean, eventually?”  
  
Stiles frowns. “I never really thought about it. Merfolk aren't a big species, and a lot of our young die quickly, easy prey and all that, so everyone at least _tries_ to have kids. I always just assumed that I'd have to, to keep the bloodlines going. But do I really want then? I don't know. Maybe. What about you?”  
  
Derek hums thoughtfully. “I grew up around the sounds of tiny feet and tinier growls. My pack was so big, there was always at least one pup somewhere in the house. I miss it a lot. Yeah, I think I do want kids. Eventually.”  
  
“Well, then, it's settled, isn't it?” Stiles turns onto his side, so they're face to face. “Yes to kids.”  
  
The air leaves Derek's lungs in a rush. It's one thing to talk about kids abstractly, it's another thing to decide to have them _with someone else_. Derek had no idea Stiles was already thinking that far into the future.  
  
It almost makes him wish he'd taken advantage of the opportunity to have sex with him. Next time.  
  
“Can you imagine, though?” Stiles asks, grinning. “If we could do it? Half you, half me, a little squirmy thing with your fangs and my gill slits? A merwolf.”  
  
Derek grabs for Stiles' hand and holds it loosely. “I bet he'd have your nose, too.”  
  
“Or she,” Stiles points out. A little girl; Derek would love that. A little princess to pamper. “I wonder what color its tail would be.”  
  
Derek doesn't reply to that, because he suddenly wants it to happen. He wants a little shrimp of a wolf pitter-pattering around his home, eyes bright with Stiles' fire and Derek's determination. He wants to wake up to Stiles and their beautiful, inquisitive child every day for the rest of life. He wants them to have a home.  
  
Derek freezes. The child might be impossible, but that didn't mean the rest of his dream couldn't come true. But god, could he do it? Derek looks around the cove critically. Is the space big enough for something like that? Beach houses are common in California, but they're usually small, made more for temporary use than anything else.  
  
The cove looks just about big enough. They could dig deep into the sand, drill the foundation into the bedrock beneath. Derek's house now isn't all that big, and four werewolves share it easily. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac would, of course, move with him. Right? Of course they would. And that way, Derek could wake up every morning, and Stiles would be just outside his front door. It sounds perfect.  
  
Derek files the idea away for later. He wants to research this before bringing it to Stiles, especially because it might not be possible. But god, what if it were? What if it could _work_?  
  
Stiles shifts closer and rubs a smooth thumb over Derek's knuckle. “Pearl for your thoughts?”  
  
Derek smiles at him, feeling a heavy, rich swath of anticipation curl in his gut. “The future.”  
  
Their future, together. Now that Stiles has brought up the long haul, Derek's unwilling to let it go. And if that means building an entire house on the beach just so he can wake up to Stiles' smile, well, by god, he'll do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: thanks to Kamara_Black for pointing out that "Isaac" had mysteriously slipped into the scene at one point! Oops!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of notes today!
> 
> You GUYS. Oh my GOSH. I'm not sure if posting the sequel kickstarted people or what, but the response to SF&S went NUTS last week! Like, holy shit! Ficrecs (including [this](http://paintedrecs.tumblr.com/post/91311433100/title-sea-foam-and-sunshine-author-jenetica) STUNNING rec that made me bleed happiness all over my house) and ACTUAL FANART. ART. Made about MY STORY. WHAT. That's [this](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com/post/91430770335/sea-foam-and-sunshine-by-jenetica-t-20k) gorgeous photo manip by bleep0bleep on Tumblr. It's so frigging pretty. I am creys. It is now the official cover art for Sea Foam and Sunshine, so if you pop over to that story you'll see it before ANYTHING else, because WOW. Good job, bby. 
> 
> In other, personal news that you can feel free to skip, I went on a date with someone who (WOW) is really close friends with Tyler Posey. Like, I have now received a secondhand "hey :)" from Tyler via text message. So, um, that's a thing. And also the guy is really nice and the date was amazing. So that's fun :D
> 
> I forgot to do this first chapter, so let me do it here! This fic currently has two betas, Ilovesocks_24 (from here on AO3) and backwards-blackbird (from Tumblr)! They do a magnificent job, if I do say so myself, and this fic would be bereft without them. 
> 
> No more chatter! On with the story!

“Guys, I need to talk to you about something,” Derek says over breakfast, five days later. He's spent the last three days researching construction between shifts at the beach, and he's ready to start making his crazy idea a not-so-crazy plan. “I want to build a house in the cove.”  
  
The three betas all stop eating at once. “I'm sorry,” Erica says, “I think I misheard you. I thought you just said you wanted to build a house. On a beach.”  
  
“I did,” Derek says, undeterred. Erica's always bitchy before three cups of coffee, so her negativity is hardly surprising. “And I'd like you to move with me.”  
  
“Of course we will,” Isaac declares. “We're family. Family means no one gets left behind.”  
  
“One day, you'll quote Disney and it won't be adorable,” Erica sighs. “One day."  
  
“It could work,” Boyd says slowly. “Have you talked to Stiles about it? Seems like this should partly be his decision."  
  
"Not yet," Derek sighs, passing a hand over his stubble. "I'm not sure how to ask. I'm terrified he'll say no, and I'm terrified he'll say yes. It's a catch-22."  
  
"Of course it's terrifying," Isaac says. "You want to build an entire house on the beach, all on the idea that your merman boyfriend will want to somehow move in with you so you can live together."  
  
"Well," Derek says dryly, "when you put it like that...."  
  
"But it's worth it," Isaac continues, eyes bright, "because he _will_ want to move in, and you know that you can make this work. If there is anyone in the world who can do this, Derek, it's you."  
  
"He's not wrong," Erica says, sipping her coffee delicately. "You're very good at overcoming obstacles, even if you whine like a little bitch while doing it."  
  
Derek shoves her off her chair, grinning ruefully. "Thanks, guys. So you think I should ask him about it?"  
  
"Definitely," Boyd says. "But I think first you need to make more concrete plans, so you can come to him with a solid idea of what you want to do. You need to see how big this bite is before you break it off."  
  
With his friends' support, the enormity of Derek's task finally becomes clear. It's one thing to _say_ you want to build a house, it's another entirely to actually _do_ it. Derek doesn't even know how houses are built, really. He knows there are things like insulation, drywall, and wiring to consider, but beyond that he's clueless. Fuck, can he even get electricity on the beach?  
  
"It's big." Derek scratches at his chest through his t-shirt. "It's very big."  
  
The cove is an ideal location to have a completed house, considering its obscure location and its proximity to water, but is it a good spot for actually _building_ a house? How are they going to get the supplies down the cliff face? What if the tide rises and ruins all of the woodwork? Are they going to have construction crews stomping everywhere?  
  
Erica grabs his arm, grounding him to the present. "We'll get through it together. One problem at a time, okay?"  
  
Derek turns his arm over so he can curl his hand around her wrist. "Okay."  
  
They rarely have time for all four of them to sit down and talk about serious issues, even though they almost never have issues that need discussing. It's in moments like these, however, that Derek truly feels the bond of packmates. He said, once, that he couldn't consider his roommates to be pack, but he could consider them family; this was a lie. Derek trusts his friends with his life and his happiness, and he only has happiness to entrust because of their support. If that isn't pack, Derek doesn't know what is.  
  
When they can, they help him map out logistics for the house. Erica has Derek write down all his concerns and supplements the list with suggestions from Boyd and Isaac, as well as adding a few of her own. It's a formidable list.  
  
Some of their questions have easy answers. There are a number of housing materials that, while expensive, are designed to withstand continued exposure to saltwater. Derek's pleased to see just how much diversity he has to choose from. Furthermore, a quick Google search tells him that there are moving companies that own ferries made specifically to drop things off on a beach, so they won't have to maneuver everything over the edge of the cliff.  
  
Other questions are more problematic. He has no idea how much the cove fills with water in the high tide, but either way he'll need to make sure that the entire foundation of his house— and possibly even the first floor— is flood proof, just to be safe. And, if that weren't scary enough, Derek has to find a way to wire the house to be flood proof, too. The last thing he wants is for another house to burn down around him.  
  
And he doesn't even want to calculate how much all of this is going to cost. He thinks his life insurance money will cover it, but it will take a large dent out of his financial security, which is a scary prospect— not to mention he feels like he's using blood money to buy himself a house he's not entirely sure he deserves. His guilt issues over the fire have gotten better these last few weeks, thanks, in part, to saving Stiles. That doesn't, however, mean they're resolved. Derek effectually destroyed his family's home, with his family still inside. Can he use the product of their death to make another home, another family? Will he burn this one down, too?  
  
He's mulling this question over when Isaac drops down on the sofa next to him. "Yo."  
  
"Hey, Isaac," Derek says, taking a deep breath to clear his mind. "What's up?"  
  
"You reek, my man," Isaac says conversationally. "More than usual, even. So spill."  
  
Derek scents the air. Isaac's right, he's leaking his emotions everywhere. Damn. "Sorry."  
  
Isaac rolls his eyes. "I'm not complaining. Okay, yes I am, but I could do that from afar. Talk. Floweth forth with the words."  
  
"You want to know what's up?" Derek sighs. "Fine. I'm making these plans to build this house, and all I can think about is the one I burned down. And now I want to take the money from that and, what, start over? Repeat my past mistakes?"  
  
"... yes?" Isaac says. Derek shoots him a glare. "No, seriously, hear me out. When I was ten I tried to ride a bike without training wheels, even though I'd never ridden before. My dad never let me, told me bicycles were dangerous. I'm pretty sure he just wanted to keep me close to home. Anyway, I found an abandoned bicycle and I tried it. I was doing okay until I hit a bump, then I went flying. Scraped up both my knees and my hands badly, too. When I got home, Dad saw my scabs and he knew. That was, um, the first time he locked me in a freezer. Not a running one, mind you, but, um, it didn't matter. He left me there for hours to think about my mistakes. And you know what? The next chance I got, I found that bicycle and tried again, this time with cardboard taped to my knees. And I practiced and practiced, until I got good enough to run away."  
  
Derek thinks an anvil could hit him and he'd be less stunned. Now he knows why Isaac never talks about his past. Holy shit. "Did you make it? Away?"  
  
Issac laughs. "Oh hell no, man. A deputy caught me at the city limits and dragged me home. And that's how I got this." Isaac pulls up the sleeve of his t-shirt and shows Derek a patchwork of scar tissue. "Two glass bottles and a chair. Apparently the Bite doesn't remove scars if they're already healed, did you know that?"  
  
"Isaac," Derek breathes, staring at the scars. He'd seen them before, of course, but he'd never even thought about what they might mean. "I... I don't know what to say."  
  
"Nah," Isaac says, rubbing at the scars. "It's over, man. That Alpha, whoever he was, took care of my dad the way I'd always wanted to. The point is, Derek, everything comes with consequences. Do I stay in the house, or do I try to escape? Do you continue to rent a shitty condo and feel sorry for yourself, or do you take that blood money and put it towards something useful? This house is your escape. This is how you get away."  
  
Derek rests his head against the back of the couch, then lolls to the side to look at Isaac. "It was going to go into a college fund," he admits. "The money. For you three. That's how I was going to spend it."  
  
"Well, in that case, fuck the house," Isaac says flippantly. Derek laughs, shaking his head, and Isaac grins at him. "No, seriously, thanks, but this is more important. You need this more than we need college. Or, hey, how's this: once you build the place, let us stay rent-free. We'll pay utilities and living costs, but we'll put the rent money in a fund for college. Win-win, yeah?"  
  
Derek stares at him for a moment. Isaac's supposed to be the innocent of them all, the one with big dreams and aspirations. He's supposed to have his head in the clouds and his feet, well, also in the clouds.  
  
Derek's underestimated him this entire time: Isaac's the wisest of them all.  
  
"Yeah. Win-win."  
  
"Awesome." Isaac claps him on the shoulder. "So I helped? You're good now?"  
  
"Yeah," Derek says, smiling ruefully. "I'm good now."  
  
"Radical," Isaac says, looking pleased as punch. "I fixed a Derek-Mope. I deserve cake."  
  
"Oh fuck you," Derek says, trying to scowl his way past a smile. Isaac beams and walks out of the room. "Hey, Isaac?"  
  
He pops his head around the corner. "Yeah?"  
  
"Thanks," Derek says seriously. "And if you ever want to talk about, you know, _anything_ , I'm here. We all are."  
  
Isaac smiles at his sadly, looking about a thousand years old. "I know, buddy." His head disappears and the door clicks shut a second later.

* * *

Derek, despite his newfound determination to follow through on his plans for building the house, leaves Stiles out of it for now. He wants to tell Stiles, he does, but every time he has the chance, he can't get the words out of his mouth. They're right there, perched under his tongue, but they might as well be locked up with the Crown Jewels. If Stiles notices, he doesn't mention it.  
  
It's far easier to spread out over the sand and ignore the house entirely. Instead, he lets Stiles chatter away about the tribe and stares up into the clouds. He loves hearing about Stiles' life underwater, anyway. It's so fundamentally different from everything he's experienced on land that it feels like a fantastical story he'd find in the YA section of a bookstore.  
  
As Stiles explains it, tribes are usually around three hundred merfolk strong, but the tribe that inhabits the shallows of Southern California, Stiles' tribe, only holds two hundred. Merpeople prefer colder or deeper waters, Stiles says, because they're less vulnerable to human discovery. Despite its size, Stiles' tribe is still considered a powerful and important community. In some ways that's better, because marauding bands of rogue merfolk tend to steer clear of tribes with such reputations, but it also means that tribe territory is often used for negotiations and inter-tribe meetings. Merfolk politics are complex, from what Derek can understand, and infractions against treaties between tribes can be dangerous.  
  
For example, Scott's relationship with Allison, the mermaid with the teal scales, nearly started a war, Stiles says, when her parents found out about it. Allison is the daughter of the leader of the Greater Pacific Coastline tribe, which is one of the oldest and most illustrious tribes in the world. There, bloodlines are important, and Allison's affair with Scott is considered an "egregious lapse in judgment." Apparently Scott has no traceable ties to any merpeople of import, so he's not a viable candidate for Allison's mate. Derek thinks this sounds like Harry Potter levels of genetic elitism, but he keeps his mouth shut. Werewolf politics, while drastically different, are no better.  
  
It was only when Allison told her family that she would sooner leave the tribe than give Scott up that they conceded, but even so, Allison and Scott had stirred up some old inter-tribe animosity, the ripples of which might last decades.  
  
Derek rolls onto his side after one of Stiles' great rambling talks. He finds all of it absolutely fascinating, but he knows old-fashioned hierarchies too well to ignore the question burning at the back of his mind. "If bloodlines are so important, doesn't that mean you'll take over as tribe leader after your father?"  
  
Stiles shrugs. "Yeah, I suppose. Chris, Allison's dad, practically begged him to consider pairing me with Allison, instead of letting her be with Scott. Dad shot him down, thank Poseidon. Can you imagine?"  
  
Derek can imagine it all too well: Stiles with a beautiful mermaid, having beautiful merbabies and living a beautiful life under the sea. He scratches at his chest. "So what happens when you become leader, then?"  
  
Stiles wriggles his tail in the water and scoops some water onto his ventral scales. "I'll oversee trade agreements, patrols, hunting expedition assignments, all of that stuff. There's a lot of little things to handle, like encroaching schools of aggressive fish and keeping predators at bay."  
  
A heavy weight settles in Derek's stomach. "Sounds like you'd be pretty busy." Far too busy to have a surface-dwelling paramour, at least. Derek tucks his arms above his head to prevent himself from crossing them over his chest.  
  
"Dude, you have no idea," Stiles groans. "Color me unenthused. It's work to even get Dad to eat dinner, some nights."  
  
Right. Derek's heard enough. He sits up in the sand. "I think I'm going to go home."  
  
Stiles startles upright. "Why?" His brow knits in confusion. "Did I do something wrong?"  
  
"No, of course not." Derek plasters on a smile and kisses Stiles. "I just need to get back before sundown. I promised the wolves I'd help plant a row of pumpkins for the fall."  
  
"Okay," Stiles says, unsure. "Tell the kids I say hey. See you in three days?" He grabs for Derek's hand, and Derek slides his fingers over Stiles' slippery smooth skin, so unlike his own. They're just so different.  
  
"See you in three days," he confirms. Stiles smiles at him sweetly and kisses his cheek before pushing off into the surf. Derek watches him leave and stands, dusting sand off his butt. The bright, warm cove is claustrophobic, packed full of memories and emotions that Derek needs to escape. He scales the cliff face quickly, familiar with the jutting rocks by now, and drives home.  
  
He should have known better than to assume that everything would be sunshine and daisies from here on out. He's been making all these plans and schemes to overcome Stiles' differences in anatomy, but there are no houses he can build that will change the fact that Stiles has a responsibility to his people, and Derek's presence in his life is an impediment, not an advantage. Derek can't be the thing that holds Stiles back. He can't be Stiles' Kate.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MOre AnGST? For real?? ... yeah, my bad you guys. Derek's a schlub. 
> 
> I want to shoutout to all of the amazing readers who commented with house ideas, questions about merfolk physiology or culture, headcanons, and more. I am utterly humbled by how much I have inspired you, and your suggestions/ideas/thoughts prove to me that my reader base is full of brilliant, incredible people. I have written most of this story, and I have definite plans for pretty much everything, but please feel free to comment with anything and everything you want to talk about. Especially if you want to know more about merfolk. I could talk about them for DAYS.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to warn you right now: this is not a major chapter, and you very well might be disappointed at the lack of action. There is a lot of action in chapter four, so hold onto your hats for one more week. I'm sorry!
> 
> Because so many people mentioned this in the comments, I'm going to say it here for all of you: no, there is no reverse-Dremora that allows Derek to become a merman. There are a lot of little issues I have with a plot-fix like that, but the biggest one is that, honestly, it's just too easy. If you really, really wanted to see a merman!Derek in this fic, I encourage you to read through the comments on the previous chapters to see some of my reasoning, or feel free to ask me about it yourself. Like always, I'm more than happy to talk to you about this universe.
> 
> I've never, ever mentioned this, and that's dumb: Dremora is a Skyrim reference. They're soldier-demons of the Daedric gods that can descend to the mortal plane to do a god's (or your, if you're skilled enough) bidding. I thought the name was cool, and also Stiles is "descending" to a more "mortal" plane. So there's that. And now you know. *confetti*

He pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine. Boyd's the only one home, watching ESPN on their tiny flatscreen.   
  
"The house is off," Derek says brusquely. He peels off his shirt and heads for the stairs, intending to take a long, scalding hot shower to clear his head.  
  
"Hold up," Boyd says before Derek can so much as climb a stair. "Did Stiles say no?"  
  
Derek leans against the banister. "No," he says begrudgingly. "But he said the next best thing. It's fine."  
  
"It's obviously not fine," Boyd retorts. "You have your mopey face on. Go take a shower, but come back down here. We're going to talk this out."  
  
Derek clenches his jaw and nods. Boyd is the one person in the house who would rather ignore a problem than talk it out, so when he demands a conversation it's serious business. He trudges up the stairs and rushes through his shower. He'd rather get this over with sooner than later.  
  
The TV is turned off when Derek comes back downstairs, which means Boyd has readied himself for a long talk. Derek sets his shoulders: Boyd's long talks are notoriously formidable. Boyd has the unique ability to absorb a wealth of information and to cut it down in concise, simple sentences. Talking to him feels like culturing a garden of plants, to have them culled in one fell swoop. Derek's not up for an emotional culling today.  
  
But he can't avoid it. He sits in the armchair next to the sofa, where Boyd is sprawled out, and tries to look disinterested. He's pretty sure he fails horribly.  
  
"Talk."  
  
Derek runs his hands through his hair. "There's nothing to say, Boyd. It was a foolish idea that I was stupid enough to believe in. I can't ask you guys to move your entire lives because of me."  
  
"We already agreed," Boyd points out. He cocks his head. "Unless 'you guys' includes Stiles. You think you're asking too much of him."  
  
"Aren't I?" Derek asks helplessly. "For us, this is a physical shift in location, nothing more. We don't have family ties or social obligations. Stiles is different. He has his entire life ahead of him, a life that doesn't include–"  
  
"You?" Boyd finishes. "Derek, come on. You know better."  
  
"This isn't about me, Boyd," Derek snaps. "Stiles has a duty to be with his people. He— it's not worth it." He deflates. "This isn't worth arguing, Boyd."  
  
Boyd sits up and leans forward so his forearms are resting on his thighs. "You've talked to him about it? Asked what he wants?"  
  
"Does that matter? He has obligations. He's the son of their leader, Boyd, he's next in line to rule. It's his life."  
  
"Exactly," Boyd says. "It's _his_ life. Not yours, not his father's, _his_. And yeah, maybe he will have to go back to his tribe when his father dies. When will that be again? Not for another, what, fifty years? Maybe more? But maybe he _won't_. You need to stop deciding what's best for Stiles, and start communicating with him about this shit. You have no idea what his headspace is like."  
  
"I... I can't—" Derek's voice cracks and he clears it. "I don't want to lose him, too."  
  
"So instead you're pushing him away? Is that better?"   
  
"It's a controlled descent, Boyd, of course it's better."  
  
"Fucking Jesus, Derek." Boyd rolls his eyes. "Controlled descent or crash, Derek, the plane still hasn't reached its destination. Whether you give him up or he leaves, he'll still be gone. It'll still hurt. The only difference is, taking the risk might just pay off. He may stay. And, judging from the way he couldn't take his eyes off you when we met, I'd say the likelihood is in your favor."  
  
Derek lets his head fall back against the chair. His argument is dwindling and, though he still feels full of fear and anxiety, he knows Boyd is right. He's been culled. "I just can't handle another crash, Boyd," he whispers to the ceiling. "I can't lose it all again."  
  
"You won't," Boyd says quietly. "Stiles isn't Kate, Derek. You can't stab at a figure in the dark just because you think it might be a monster. You have to turn on the light."  
  
"I need to talk to Stiles," Derek translates.  
  
"You need to talk to Stiles."  
  
Derek tilts his head forward and gives Boyd his best stink-eye. "How'd you get so good at this?"  
  
Boyd shrugs and smiles. "I live with you three. Biggest drama queens on the planet, you are."  
  
Derek throws a pillow at him that he catches, the asshole. But, that aside, Derek feels a lot better. "Thanks, Boyd."  
  
"You got it, boss," Boyd says, turning the TV on. "Now go away, the Packers are actually winning, for once."  
  
Derek throws another pillow at him and leaves the living room. He knows Stiles knows about the fire, but no amount of explanation can make Stiles understand just how broken Derek is. He likes to think it's because they had better things to talk about, but part of him is certain that he doesn't want Stiles to know his charred little secret. He doesn't want Stiles to see how damaged he is, how vulnerable and brittle his bones are. He's not sure he could handle Stiles' pity.  
  
He thinks it's time he opened up. His fear is impacting their relationship and has been doing so from day one. He wants so badly to pull Stiles in, but he has no idea how close is too close, and it's making him sloppy. If he's going to ask Stiles to open up his life to Derek, the least he can do is open his in return.  
  
He stops at the dining room table, which is full of printouts and rough sketches of floor plans. He'd been about to throw all of this away on a stupid whim. He's not about to make that mistake again.

* * *

Boyd mercifully keeps Derek's mini-breakdown a secret, and Derek leaves a BluRay of The Blind Side on his bed in thanks.   
  
He brings a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips (Stiles' favorite) to the cove as an apology. Stiles may not know about Derek's lapse in good judgment, but it happened, anyway. The least he can do is make it up to him.  
  
Stiles swims ashore about half an hour later, looking radiant as usual. Derek could maul himself for trying to get rid of someone so beautiful. "Hey, how was the pumpkin thing?"  
  
What pumpkin thing? Derek casts his mind back to the last time he spoke. "Oh, that!" he says, "uh, that was fine."  
  
"You have to bring me one, you know," Stiles says, making himself comfortable in the sand. "When they get big. I want to make one of those thingumabobs, with the faces."  
  
"A jack'o'lantern?" Derek grins. "Will do. Here, I got these for you." He gives Stiles the bag of chips.  
  
"Awesome!" Stiles cries, tearing into the bag with his tiny claws. He shoves an entire handful of chips in his mouth at once and groans in happiness. "You spoil me."  
  
"Actually," Derek says, clearing his throat. "They're to say I'm sorry."  
  
Stiles stops eating. Well, he only eats them one at a time, instead of by the fistful. "Why? What'd you do?"  
  
Derek shakes his head. "I was stupid."  
  
"Well, I mean, that's a given," Stiles teases, grinning. Derek shoves him so he falls into the sand. He spills some chips in the process, but Stiles eats them anyway. "Seriously, though, what's up?"  
  
"Do you want to move in with me?" Derek asks suddenly. It's not what he's supposed to say, but out of his two big conversation topics— the house or his breakdown— this is the more bearable.  
  
"Like, theoretically?" Stiles asks, licking salt off his fingers. "I mean, yeah, definitely. That would be a lot of fun. We wouldn't have to plan to see each other, it would just happen. But, I mean, that's kind of impossible."  
  
"Not necessarily," Derek says softly.  
  
"What?" Stiles gasps. "How?"  
  
Derek steals a chip to buy himself some time, even though he hates salt and vinegar. "I've looked into it. I could build a house here, in the cove. For us. Is that something you'd even want?"  
  
Stiles very carefully puts down his bag of chips, and Derek steels himself for rejection. He's completely unprepared for the lapful of wriggling merman he gets, nor the enthusiastic kiss he gets a moment later. Derek laughs and wraps his arms around Stiles, licking tangy vinegar off his lips.  
  
"In case that was unclear," Stiles says, pulling back, "yeah, I want that. I want you any way I can get you."  
  
Derek kisses him until they're both panting for air. "The feeling is mutual."  
  
Stiles hums and scratches his claws over Derek's stubble affectionately. "Now, why are you apologizing to me? Unless this is a congratulatory bag of chips, and all that was a ruse."  
  
Derek's tempted to take the out, but he knows that he needs to stop holding back from Stiles, even when it hurts. "No, there's more."  
  
Stiles squirms until next to Derek, instead of on top of him. "Okay?"  
  
"I have this... thing," Derek says slowly, trying to sort his thoughts into sentences. He wants to get this right.  
  
"I've met your thing," Stiles says, sending an overtly suggestive look to Derek's crotch. "Although, I mean, if you want to reintroduce us, I won't complain."  
  
Derek smiles despite himself. "You're actually the worst," he tells Stiles. "I'm trying to be serious."  
  
Stiles schools his features into a solemn expression. "My bad. Continue."  
  
Derek shakes his head and forces himself to get back on track. "I told you about Kate, and how I'm kind of fucked up because of her, but, Stiles, my issues with that are so much bigger than I can possibly explain. I trust you and I love you, but opening up to you is really difficult for me, and I'm scared that it's going to be an ongoing problem."  
  
"Well, you're doing fine right now," Stiles says. "I'm going to infer that there's something you haven't talked to me about, though. What is it?"  
  
Derek sighs and ruffles at his hair. "Do you remember when we  talked about tribe leaders? I've just, I've been thinking about it a lot lately. I'm concerned about us, about how 'us' impacts you. You said it yourself, Stiles, you've got big shoes to fill when your father's gone. You're going to need to focus on your people and keeping the peace, and I'm going to stand in the way of that, eventually. I'm a distraction."  
  
"What?" Stiles splutters. "No you're not."  
  
"Stiles..."  
  
"No, Derek," Stiles says firmly. "I don't like you speaking that way about yourself, and I won't stand for it. Or, well, my equivalent." He slaps his tail and cracks a grin. "You're not a distraction, Derek, and you never will be. And, I mean, it's nice that you're thinking about our future, but Dad's only a hundred and four. He's got years and years of life left."  
  
"But what if something happens?" Derek replies. "I'd love to see your dad live till he's two hundred, but you and I both know that eighty years is a long time, and bad things happen."  
  
Stiles bites at his lips. "I know. I know they do."  
  
Fuck. Stiles' mom. Derek grabs for his hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."  
  
"No, you should," Stiles says. "You're right, I guess. I just hadn't thought of that, really. But my point still stands. I'm not swimming away from you, Derek, and I especially won't give you up to be tribe leader, of all things. Fuck that noise."  
  
"But don't you have to?" Derek asks. "All that talk about bloodlines and purity, isn't that important?"  
  
Stiles snorts. "To Allison's tribe, maybe. Our tribe hasn't cared about that in generations. I'm the default option, but that doesn't mean I'm the only option. If you want, I'll ask my dad about it, see what the law says. Okay?"  
  
Derek releases a breath, and it feels like all of the bad bottled up inside him gets released, too. "Okay."  
  
"How long have you been thinking about this?" Stiles asks.  
  
"A long time," Derek says quietly. "Not the leadership thing, particularly, but, hell, Stiles, I don't know. Don't you want a family? Like, a real, proper one? Underwater? Don't you want any of that?"  
  
"Of course I do," Stiles says, "but I want you more, and I know that we can make it work. That's enough for me. You're enough for me. Am I enough for you?"  
  
Derek wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of that question. "Stiles, you're the stuff of my dreams. I never expected to get someone _half_ as good as you."  
  
"Yeah?" Stiles asks, smiling shyly. "Well, back at'cha. You've shown me so many amazing things, Derek, things I couldn't have imagined if I was high on blowfish juice. Entire picture stories on flat shiny things you put in a box, do you know how magical that is? And you gave that to me, because you wanted to make me happy. You're, like, the most perfect mate I could possibly ask for."  
  
Derek can't come up with a single decent response to that kind of statement. "Well, okay then."  
  
"Okay then," Stiles echoes, bumping shoulders. "So, am I supposed to forgive you, now, or should I just eat my chips?"  
  
Derek thinks if he could, he'd shoot off into the sky and never come down. "Eat your chips, you idiot. Apology rescinded."  
  
"Them's the words I like to hear," Stiles says, crunching into a chip. "Tell me about this house of yours. Will the kids move with us?"  
  
"You know they hate it when you call them that," Derek says, smirking. "They want to. If you'd like that."  
  
"Sure," Stiles says. "They seem cool. You should bring them around, sometime. Now that, you know, my dad isn't weirding us all out with awkward sex talk."  
  
Derek snorts. "You're telling me. I'm trying to put off that discussion he wants us to have about the 'implications of dating a merman,' or whatever it was."  
  
"God, I apologize in advance," Stiles groans. "He's the worst at big talks. He gets all surly and indirect, which makes the talk take, like, three times what it needs to."  
  
Derek presses a kiss to Stile's shoulder. "I'll survive."  
  
Stiles hums around another chip. "Speaking of awkward sex talks, I found another patch of Dremora. You know, in case you wanted to finish where we left off last time."  
  
Derek glosses a hand over Stiles' golden scales. "As delightful as that sounds," he says, "I was thinking about taking you out on a date. A human one, with the wining and the dining, and all that."  
  
Stiles lights up. "Really? Like, in a restauroom?"  
  
"Restaurant," Derek corrects, smirking, "yeah. Wherever you want."  
  
"Oh man," Stiles says, snuggling into Derek's side, "when we do the sex, we're gonna do it so hard. You're the best."  
  
Derek wraps an arm around him and feels, vaguely, like he could conquer the world, if he had to. "Yeah, well, back at'cha."  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank. GOD. DEREK. You asshat. ;D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been a long time coming. No pun intended.
> 
> Fuck the author's notes. Go read some smut. You guys deserve it. We'll talk later.

Now that Stiles has given wholehearted approval to the house, things have really started to take off. Derek wants to build as much of the house himself as he can. He doesn't like the idea of having a bunch of construction workers running around the cove, even if it means the house will take twice as long to build. He can't explain why, exactly, but he wants to make the house himself, with his own two hands. He learns everything he can about construction, starting, literally, from the foundation up. He needs to bring in a crew to dig down to the rock beneath the sand, to put in the supports. And he'll have to get concrete into the cove somehow.  
  
They're working on it.  
  
But for the moment all of that isn't important right now, because right now Derek is driving to the cove to pick Stiles up for their first date. He's got first date jitters, even though this is hardly their first time spending time together. Something about introducing Stiles to real, thriving humanity is nerve-wracking to him.  
  
He drops down into the cove, where Stiles is already waiting.   
  
"Hey," Stiles greets, clutching a handful of the familiar dark weeds. "You ready?"  
  
"Are you?" Derek asks dubiously. Stiles' knuckles are white around the Dremora, and his face is paler than usual. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to."  
  
"No, I do," Stiles insists. "It's fine. I'm cool." He takes a fortifying breath and shoves the Dremora into his mouth, grimacing at the taste. Derek rushes forward when he cries out, remembering all too late that the transformation is agonizing. It seems smoother, though, like Stiles' body is more comfortable with the shift, now that he's done it once. Stiles doesn't make nearly as much noise, though his face stays screwed up in a pained scowl the entire time.  
  
Derek helps him stand when the transformation is complete. It takes Stiles a few seconds of wobbling to recover his sense of balance, but it, too, is a marked improvement from last time. Derek's glad to see that shift gets easier for Stiles. Maybe a few more times, and Stiles won't even have to think about his center of gravity.   
  
Derek pulls a pair of swim trunks out of a plastic bag and offers them to Stiles as soon as he's stable. Stiles shuffles into the trunks. "Are we going in this?"  
  
Derek shakes his head. "I figured I would take you back to my house, first, and let you shower. Saltwater's okay for a little while, but it gets uncomfortable when it dries, and that way you can see my house."  
  
"Hell yeah to all of that," Stiles says. "This is exciting! What's a shower?"  
  
Derek grins. "I'll show you."  
  
Climbing up the cliff face is a little more difficult with Stiles clinging to his back like a limpet, but Derek manages. He gets Stiles situated in the car, which is a measure of patience because Stiles spends thirty seconds fully convinced it's some sort of massive, hollow creature. Derek has to take Stiles hands between his own, look into his eyes, and say, "Stiles, this is my world. Trust me. I won't let anything happen to you."  
  
After that, Stiles is perfectly compliant. Derek rewards him with kisses.  
  
Derek drives them home, Stiles gaping out the window the entire time, and files him into the house.  
  
"Derek, oh my god, Derek," Stiles says in a continuous stream. "Derek, fuck."  
  
He's on sensory overload, Derek knows, but he also knows they have a limited time to spend on land, and they need to take advantage of it. "Stiles, look at me."  
  
Stiles looks at him. "Holy squid balls, Derek."  
  
"I know," Derek says, "but I need you to focus on me for a second. We need to get you clean so we can go out, okay?"  
  
Stiles casts wide eyes around the house. "Would I be ungrateful if I asked if we could stay here this time?"  
  
That takes Derek completely by surprise. "Don't you want to go to a restaurant?"  
  
Stiles turns the wide eyes on him, and Derek realizes that he's almost too overwhelmed. His heartbeat sounds like a jackhammer: he's on the verge of a breakdown from all the new information. Derek showed him too much too fast. "I–"  
  
"We'll stay here," Derek decides. "It's fine. Take your time. We can go out next time, okay?"  
  
Stiles give him a grateful smile. "Okay. Did I mess everything up?"  
  
"Not a thing," Derek reassures him warmly. Boyd and Erica are visiting Erica's mother for the evening and Isaac's on lifeguard duty. The house will be empty for hours. "It's fine. Do you still want food?"  
  
Stiles shoots him a disappointed look. "You really ought to know me better by now."  
  
Derek grins. "Bacon pizza it is. Garlic sauce?" Stiles beams at him, which Derek takes as an affirmative. "Okay, we can do that. What would you like to do? It's going to take a while for the pizza to get here."  
  
Stiles gets the overwhelmed look back in his eyes, but this time it seems more anticipatory than panicked. "I dunno," he says, looking around Derek's tiny house with awe. "Um, you mentioned a shower, right? We can still do that."  
  
"Only if you want to wash the saltwater off," Derek says. "You don't have to."  
  
Stiles closes his eyes and shakes his head, smiling faintly. "Derek, I've lived in saltwater my whole life. This is the very first time I've ever been away from it. _Fuck yes_ I want to wash it off."  
  
"Okay," Derek says, nodding. "We have to tackle stairs, though. Just follow my lead, and you should be fine."  
  
Stiles stumbles on the steps a little, but overall he's faring much better on stable flooring than on sand. Derek waits at the top of the stairs patiently, and it gives him a moment to marvel, for what feels like the millionth time, at the absolute novelty of Stiles. Every time Derek thinks he's fully realized Stiles' naiveté, he says something or does something that reeks of pure newness, and Derek has to readjust his thinking all over again. Like right now: Derek had known Stiles would be agog over the technological advancements of humans, but he didn't expect him to almost fall into sensory overload. He expected Stiles to throw himself into humanity at full blast, but he hadn't realized how much humanity there was to blast through.  
  
"Okay," Derek says once Stiles reaches the upstairs hallway. He opens the first door on the right. "The bathroom is here. This is where people, uh, get clean and relieve themselves." Stiles shuffles into the bathroom behind him and takes in the appliances. The mirror catches his eye and he turns toward it automatically.  
  
"Fuck." The word punches out of Stiles like it physically winded him. "That's me." He reaches shaky fingers to his face and pulls his lower eyelid down. "This is what I look like as a human."  
  
Derek steps in close behind him and rests his chin over Stiles' shoulder. "Yep, that's you."  
  
"I look so different," Stiles breathes, leaning in close. "I'm a pink-skin. My hair, my eyes, my tongue. It's all different."  
  
Derek listens to his heartbeat, but it's only slightly faster than normal. Stiles is okay. "Good different or bad different?"  
  
"I don't know," Stiles says. "You tell me. Am I a pretty human?"  
  
Derek kisses the join of Stiles' neck to his shoulder. "I think you're beautiful both ways. I may be a little biased."  
  
"But I'm prettier as a human to you, right?" Stiles' eyelashes flutter and his heartbeat takes a funny turn. He's nervous, unsure.  
  
Derek sighs. "It's not that simple, Stiles. This you is more compatible with me, and there's a definite appeal to that. Our bodies run on the same wavelength like this. And yeah, objectively, you're a good-looking guy. But I fell in love with a merman, and I can't ignore that, either. When I see the gray-skinned, fishy you, I'm flooded with all of these memories that we've shared, and those are just as important to me as our physiological compatibility."  
  
Stiles leans back into Derek and smiles gratefully. "We look good together. I'm so pale compared to you."  
  
"I spend all my days in the sun," Derek says, wrapping his tan arms around Stiles' white middle. "It does that."  
  
"So you aren't naturally this color?"  
  
Derek shakes his head and pulls down the corner of his shorts so Stiles can see his tan line. "Nope."  
  
Stiles swivels in his arms and stares at the patch of white skin. His eyes glaze over in lust, and Derek can't help but respond in kind. "Derek, you're really sexy. I need you to know that."  
  
Derek leans forward and kisses Stiles. Stiles opens under him instantly, and Derek curls his tongue into Stiles' mouth effortlessly. Stiles inhales loudly and wraps his arms around Derek's neck. The move brings their bodies into full contact from chest to knee.   
  
Derek's arms drop to Stiles' hips and the kiss takes a turn for the filthy. Stiles makes a little mewling noise and pushes his hips into Derek's, blindly seeking friction, and Derek grinds into him without thought. Stiles makes another noise that vibrates through Derek's mouth and shifts even closer, so his hardening dick presses along Derek's hip.   
  
Derek breaks away and, when Stiles follows his head forward, almost says 'fuck it' and moves this into the bedroom. Almost. "How about I show you that shower now," he says, his voice like gravel.  
  
Stiles frowns. "But can't we just do this?"  
  
Derek gives him a sharp, toothy grin. "Believe me, you'll like it." He turns away to turn on the shower but immediately returns to lick a line up Stiles' neck until he reaches Stiles' ear. "Take off your shorts."  
  
Stiles' next breath comes out ragged. "Oh. Okay." He fumbles for his shorts while Derek peels off his shirt. "I, um, are you going to take yours off, too?" Derek, not missing a beat, shoves his shorts down his hips and steps out of them. "Oh. Okay."  
  
Derek smirks. "You're saying that a lot."  
  
Stiles narrows his eyes. "You're doing this on purpose," he accuses, blushing. "You're mocking me."  
  
Derek pushes Stiles' trunks down to the ground and swallows whatever snarky comment he'd been about to make. "Fuck, I want you. Shower, now."  
  
He manhandles Stiles over the lip of the tub and under the spray. Stiles immediately stick out his tongue to catch water, and gasps. "It's so sweet!"  
  
"That's what water tastes like without the salt," Derek says, tracking droplets of said water down Stiles' clavicle. "I'm going to kiss you again now."  
  
Only he doesn't get the chance, because Stiles kisses him first, hard and desperate. Their bodies collide and Derek feels a jolt of pleasure when the velvety skin of Stiles' dick slides along his own. Stiles cries out and shivers in Derek's arms, eyes flying open. "What was that?"  
  
And oh, but Derek is going to _enjoy_ this. He slides an arm down Stiles' side and over his hip. When he curls his hand around Stiles' cock, Stiles spasms and falls against the wall of the shower. That works to Derek's advantage, so he shifts until he's standing between Stiles' legs, one hand pumping his cock slowly. "What, this?"  
  
The look Stiles gives him is practically drugged. "Yeah."  
  
Derek was expecting a sarcastic comment. It throws him for a second before he realizes that Stiles is experiencing pleasure for the first time _ever_ , and he's past the point of sarcasm now. Fuck, that's hot. Derek tugs on Stiles' cock and flicks his thumb over the head, eager to see Stiles come. He doesn't have to wait long. A handful of strokes later, Stiles scrunches his face and shouts, and his cock pulses in Derek's hand. Derek smells the musky scent of Stiles' come on his hand and licks his hand clean, hungry to taste Stiles.   
  
Stiles lay, flushed, against the wall of the shower, panting softly. "What the hell was that?"  
  
Derek presses a kiss to Stiles' lips, and Stiles kisses him back  lazily. "That was sex. Or, rather, a type of sex. There's more types."  
  
Stiles thunks his head against the wall. "We need to be doing that all the time. All the different types. Wait, did you have the sex, too? Or do I need to be doing something?"  
  
Derek smiles against the bony edge of Stiles' shoulder. He never thought it was possible to be this enchanted and turned on at the same time. If nothing else, Stiles is excellent at proving him wrong. "The sex is the interaction. That sensation you felt? That's an orgasm. And no, you don't have to help me. I'd never push you into something like that."  
  
"No, fuck that," Stiles says derisively. "Believe me, if I don't want to do something, you'll know. Now tell me what to do."  
  
Derek rubs the head of his dick against the slick skin of Stiles' stomach and thinks he could get off from just that. "Fuck, Stiles."  
  
Stiles makes an exasperated noise and curls his hand around Derek's dick. "So I just—?" He pulls, and the friction has Derek near keening.   
  
"Yeah," he chokes out, "yeah, just keep doing that." Stiles hums happily and strokes Derek, changing the pace and grip seemingly at random. The lack of pattern turns things up a notch, like every little shift in movement sets a different part of Derek on fire.   
  
He grips Stiles' hips hard when he comes, whining into the bend of Stiles' neck. When he comes down he's laying sloppy kisses over Stiles' skin, licking up stray droplets of water.   
  
"Wow," Stiles says. "Are all showers like this?"  
  
Derek smiles against his skin. "Do you want them to be?"  
  
" _Yes_."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Stiles runs his hands over the back of Derek's neck. "So, about that pizza...."  
  
Derek huffs a laugh and pulls out of Stiles' arms. "Yeah, okay, let's get clean and have some pizza."  
  
He teaches Stiles how to squirt shampoo on his palms and scrub it through his hair. Stiles gets soap in his eyes because _of course_ he does. Derek passes a perfunctory washcloth over their bodies to rub away any extra salt, but he doesn't linger. When Derek's cloth slides over his nipples, Stiles' dick gives a valiant twitch that makes him shiver. Derek does it again just to see the glare Stiles sends him. It's adorable.  
  
Derek can tell that Stiles wants to linger under the spray of warm water, but he can feel the ticking clock of the Dremora's time limit like a physical thing. He hustles Stiles out of the shower, helps him towel off and slide into some clean clothes, then pulls him downstairs. He should've ordered the pizza before they got in the shower, he thinks. It would have been here by now. He calls the local pizza delivery place while Stiles ogles the silverware drawer, eyes alight at all the gleaming metal. You can pull the man out of the merman, but you can't pull the merman out of the man, it seems.  
  
Derek finishes the order and slides in behind Stiles, wrapping his arms around Stiles' slim waist. "Pizza should be here in half an hour." Stiles smells like him, he realizes, wrapped up in the scent of his shampoo and his old lacrosse t-shirt. Derek's wolf curls up inside him and growls contentedly. "What do you want to do until then?"  
  
Stiles leans back into Derek's hold and frowns thoughtfully. "I dunno. What is there to do? What do werewolves do in their free time?"  
  
"Work out, spar, watch TV," Derek says musingly. None of those things sound appealing right now, although he would very much like to get Stiles pinned underneath him in the near future. Very, _very_ much. He sniffs along the slope of Stiles' neck and spots a sheaf of papers lying on the dining room table. "Or, hey, would you like to see the plans for the house?"  
  
Stiles turns around and fixes him with a blinding smile. "Like that's even a question, dumbass."  
  
Derek bites at Stiles' chin in retribution and walks to the dining room table. He sits and watches as Stiles awkwardly folds himself into the opposite chair: he's still not used to sitting _down_ , as opposed to sitting _up_. Derek busies himself with spreading the papers across the table. If he were in Stiles' position, the last thing he'd want is for his every movement to be tracked and judged. Stiles is getting used to a human body remarkably well, and the least Derek can do is let him settle at his own pace.   
  
"Right now we're still in a preliminary phase," Derek says, watching Stiles lean over the papers with interest. "Houses need to rest on a foundation, which keeps them from losing structural integrity and shifting on the ground."  
  
"Nice to see I'm not the only one with balance issues," Stiles jokes. "Somehow I don't think houses can pick themselves back up, though."  
  
"No, they can't," Derek agrees. "A bad foundation makes a house completely unlivable.” The foundation of his home in Beacon Hills was destroyed by the fire. House inspectors came by, back when Laura still wanted to rebuild it all, and told them then that there was nothing salvageable in the ruin. They'd have to completely start over, scrapping everything. What would the point be, then, to rebuild at all? Better to just leave.  
  
“Okay,” Stiles says, “what else is there?”  
  
Derek looks back to the mess of papers on the table and waits for his eyes to see house plans instead of blackened, decaying walls. “Well,” he says, “next we had to find building materials that could withstand continued exposure to saltwater.” He taps on a packet of papers near Stiles' left elbow. “I don't know how much of the cove disappears in high tide, so I've been preparing for the worst case scenario.”  
  
“Which is?”  
  
“Total submersion of the base of the house,” Derek sighs. “I'll do a stakeout to see how bad the tide is, but honestly, I'd prefer if we built everything with 'worst case scenario' in mind, just in case.”  
  
“Smart,” Stiles comments. “I'll do the stakeout with you, if you want. Those things are always better with company.”  
  
The doorbell rings and Stiles nearly jumps out of his seat. “Relax,” Derek says, standing. “It's the pizza. I'll be right back.”  
  
He pays the delivery man and carries the box into the dining room. Stiles scrapes papers off a corner of the table for Derek to put the box on and almost visibly salivates when Derek opens it. “ _Pizzaaa_ ,” he moans. “Get _inside me._ ”  
  
Derek chokes on air and runs to fetch some plates. Stiles will be the death of him, he swears to God.  
  
They eat in companionable silence for a while. Or, at least, as quiet as a room can get when Stiles is eating something he likes, which is to say not very quiet at all. Derek think he should perhaps be disgusted at how slovenly Stiles eats— mouth open, slurping loudly, hands messy— but he isn't, not at all.  
  
“Okay,” Stiles says around a mouthful of crust, “so what else are you guys working on?”  
  
Derek wipes his hands clean and scratches at his chin, absentmindedly reminding himself to shave soon. “We're still trying to figure out the layout of the house,” he says. “It'd be smarter to build it along the cliff wall, to protect it as much as possible from wind and weather damage, but Erica thinks that wouldn't matter if rocks fall from the cliff face and smash through the roof. Isaac drew sketches, here.” He rustles through the papers until he finds the doodles Isaac had done last week.  
  
Stiles traces an oily finger over the waterline. “Oh," he says softly, sounding disappointed.  
  
“What?”  
  
Stiles shrugs. “It's nothing, I guess. It's just, I kind of expected something in the water, too? So I could, you know, actually move in, a little? But it's no big deal. It's whatever.”  
  
“Fuck,” Derek says intelligently. He hadn't even considered accommodating Stiles in the water. How horribly stupid of him. “No, it _is_ a big deal. You deserve a place in this home as much as anyone. What do you have in mind?”  
  
Stiles pinches his lips to the side in thought. He scrubs his hands on a napkin, then grabs a nearby pencil and a clean piece of paper and, in quick, broad strokes, draws a totally new house. Every once in a while he lifts his head and squints around Derek's house, as if to remember what a house is supposed to look like. When he spins the drawing around, Derek is utterly gobsmacked. It's amazing.  
  
“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek breathes. Stiles' hasty scribble absolutely blows Isaac's careful plans out of the water. “That's incredible. I had no idea you were an artist.”  
  
Stiles wrinkles his nose in confusion. “What's an artist?”  
  
Derek leans back in his chair and swallows a bubble of hysterical laughter. “Never mind. Talk me through what I'm seeing.”  
  
Stiles grins. “Cool. So this tall bit will be where you guys sleep and shower and stuff. This part that goes into the water can be like where we are now. What's this room called, again?”  
  
Derek unsticks a string of cheese from the nearly empty box and shoves it into his mouth. “This is the dining room, and that's the kitchen.”  
  
“Right,” Stiles says brightly. “Those ones. I figured all that could be stretched out over the water, you know? So I could be there?”  
  
Derek could kiss him, so he does. Stiles smiles against him and returns the kiss, his lips slick with pizza grease. Derek would never have thought to actually build into the surf. And it might not work, really, but Stiles wants to try, and that in itself is incredible. This isn't Derek doing anything he can to be near Stiles, this is both of them pushing into each other's lives as hard as they can. Derek has to keep reminding himself of that.   
  
“What was that for?” Stiles asks, looking shyly pleased.  
  
“No reason,” Derek mumbles, clearing up the plates to hide his own tiny smile. Stiles turns him into such a teenager. “Just good to know we want the same things.”  
  
“Living with my super-hot mate in a house he's literally building to be close to me? No, I want nothing to do with that noise,” Stiles scoffs sarcastically. He stands and brings the pizza box to where Derek is wiping off the dishes to do later. “It's probably the best thing that's ever happened, but, you know, whatever.”  
  
“Shut up,” Derek grumbles.  
  
“Nah, man,” Stiles continues, wrapping his arms around Derek's waist so his front is pressed against Derek's back. “I mean, he only stayed up a ton of nights to hang out with me and show me a bunch of awesome things that probably changed my life. But that's not charming at all, definitely don't want anymore of that. And the sex, well.”  
  
“’Well’ what?”  
  
Stiles shrugs and their t-shirts rub together. “It's whatever.”  
  
Derek growls loudly and spins so Stiles is pressed against the countertop. “Insolent pup.” He nips at Stiles' neck, hard, and bares his teeth happily when Stiles tilts his head back to give him more room. “I haven't even _begun_ to show you good sex.”   
  
Stiles makes a high, needy noise that drives Derek's wolf crazy. “Exactly,” he says, voice cracking. “No reasons I should stick around, none at all. Because I am definitely _not_ all kinds of interested in that for the rest of my life starting yesterday.”  
  
Derek sniffs along Stiles' collarbone and wallows in the heady arousal he finds there. “How long until the Dremora wears off?”  
  
Stiles' breath hitches. “Another hour or so.”  
  
His pheromones kick up another notch, hot and heavy. Derek couldn't resist them if he wanted to. He picks Stiles up and throws him over his shoulder, ignoring Stiles' indignant squawk. “Good.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GET IT, BABIES. 
> 
> Here are some things I wanted to say:
> 
> Thank you to every single person who commented last chapter, especially those who reassured me that emotional drama is just as important as physical drama. I get really worried about this story, because I want it to be a sequel that lives up to SF&S, which feels like a monumental task right now. Your support and encouragements mean more than you can possibly fathom. So thank you, again, and I'll see you next week. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another week, another chapter! This time: Stiles.
> 
> Some sad personal news,[backwards-blackbird](backwards-blackbird.tumblr.com), my IRL best friend and long-time beta, is leaving for grad school this week. She says she'll still be able to edit this story, despite moving to another state and starting a new life, so never fear, but wow. I feel rough. If you have the time and would be willing, take a moment to wish her luck on the next leg of her life. She's helped this story in ways you can't imagine, and I think she would love the little bursts of encouragement as she moves. You're not obligated to do anything, of course, and it's pretty unprofessional of me to ask, but I'm kind of a mess right now so fuck professionalism. Help my best friend's move be a little happier, if you can. I'd love you for it. Thanks.
> 
> Onto the chapter! Sorry for bogging you down with emotional crap.

Stiles would like to say that he woke peacefully. He would like to say that he curled into his bed of sponges and seaweed to get just a few more moments of sleep, because he had the time to spare. He would also like to say that he rolled onto his belly and scratched his scales on the soft sand, luxuriating in the gentle massage of grit against his skin.  
  
Of course, life doesn't work that way.  
  
" _Ah_ , Jesus fuck!" he cries, bolting upright. He rubs at his shoulder where, a few seconds before, he'd been struck by a large rock. The words flow out of his mouth in a smooth, melodic stream; underwater, merfolk communicate exclusively in song. It's the only way their voices can travel through water.  
  
Scott beams at him from the cave entryway. "Good morning!"  
  
"Not now, it isn't," Stiles grumbles. He wishes he could speak to Scott in the stilted, guttural language he uses above the water. Somehow grumbling doesn't pack the same punch when it comes out sounding like a lilting line of song.  
  
Scott ignores him and swims in to plop onto Stiles' bed. " _So_ ," he says, "how was it?"  
  
Stiles sends his bed a forlorn glance. So much for a few more minutes of sleep. "Good."  
  
"Good?" Scott exclaims. "You go on your first date with an upwalker, you see the human world for the first time, and all you give me is 'good?'"  
  
"Shh," Stiles hisses, checking the mouth of the cave for eavesdroppers. "Have jellyfish infested your brain? I told you to be quiet about that!" Scott isn't even supposed to know about it. No one in the village is; that was one of the rules Stiles' dad laid out when he agreed to let Stiles have this relationship with Derek. No one could know.   
  
Of course, Stiles had to tell _someone_. And he knows Scott's good at keeping secrets when he needs to— he's just also sloppy about discretion. They're working on it.  
  
"Squid, man," Scott whispers (or, rather, hums), "I'm sorry. Is anyone out there?"  
  
"No," Stiles says, double-checking just to be sure. "We're safe. But we should probably head out to the reef, just in case."  
  
The nearby coral reef is a common hangout for the merfolk in their tribe and, counterintuitive as it may seem, out in the open is the best place to avoid curious ears. No one will bother to listen in on their conversation out there.  
  
It's a ten minute swim; Stiles and Scott fill the time with idle chatter. Between Scott's obsessive love affair with Allison and Stiles' burgeoning romance with Derek, they haven't had a lot of time together. Stiles has really missed his best friend.  
  
Scott is the type of merman that makes other mermen— like Stiles— feel quietly inadequate. He has a warm, brownish skin tone, unlike Stiles' bland grey, that melts perfectly into the bronze and burgundy of his scales. He's beautiful. If that weren't enough, he also has a heart of gold. He once saved an entire team of Little League deepdivers from a hungry rogue shark. He helps the elderly council people weed their caves on weekends. He's, like, every mermaid's wet dream. (Well, all their dreams are wet, but Stiles heard Derek use the phrase 'wet dream' once, and it seems appropriate.) The point is, if Stiles hadn't known Scott since they were practically fingerlings, he'd be outrageously jealous of the guy.   
  
But he _has_ known Scott that long. They're like brothers. So he knows that Scott acts the way he does because his father inseminated all of Scott's mom's eggs and left, which is the sleaziest of social atrocities a merperson can do. Scott's dad is worse than a finsucker; he's an algae-eater, the worst kind of pond scum jerkface that plagues merfolk society. He should rot in a fish tank, as far as Stiles is concerned. Especially because Scott firmly believes that he's a descendant of someone like that, and has to prove himself at every turn. He spends every day being a model citizen to prove to the world that he isn't like his father. And the rest of the tribe may believe in him, but he'll never believe in himself. It's downright tragic.   
  
That, and he knows Scott way better than anyone ever should know another person. He knows Scott's dopey side, his self-conscious side, his romantic side, his dreamy side, all of them. He knows Scott's a nervous pooper and swims all the way to the farthest corner of the village to lay his deuces. Most merfolk just get out of eyesight, so as not to offend. Some don't even care that much and do it wherever. (Stiles, as a kid, was among the latter. Years of friendship with "No One Can Know I Poop" Scott have taught him some modesty.)  
  
"Alright, I think we're good," Scott says. He's right: the reef is close to deserted this time of day, so they have the section to themselves. "Now tell me."  
  
Stiles bites at his lips. How to explain the human world to someone who's never even seen a human? "What are things like with you and Allison? I mean, what do you guys do?"  
  
As always, Scott's face transforms into a lovestruck smile when he thinks of Allison. "Oh, Stiles, it's awesome."  
  
"I know that part," Stiles says, shoving Scott good-naturedly. "I mean, what do you guys do?"  
  
Scott's golden skin warms to a ruddy orange. "Uh, I mean, the normal stuff? We go for swims around that big reef out near the Deeps. We hunt for sea cucumbers and rare pieces of dead coral." His smile turns secretive. "Sometimes she helps me pick up human garbage, and we sneak it onshore in the night."  
  
Stiles gapes at him. He knows the struggles of living amongst discarded bits of plastic and metal as well as anyone, but he'd never expected Scott to break the rules like that. _Not like he had._ “You little sea snake!” he exclaims proudly. “No way! Allison goes in for that kind of thing?”  
  
“It's her favorite thing to do,” Scott replies bashfully. “Apparently her tribe is, like, way stricter than ours about the shore and stuff. I think they had a few of their own get taken by upwalkers, you know?”  
  
“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Yeah, I do.” He remembers all too well the needle-sharp fear of being captured, and he knows that, were Derek not already a part of his life, he'd be wary of upwalkers, too.   
  
Scott, never one to let things grow heavy, grins and claps Stiles on the shoulder. “So, come on, spill. Hot date between you and Mr. Nightstalker-Man.”  
  
Stiles is no mermaid, but the smile that splits his face probably belongs on someone with a fancy seashell bra. “Oh, Scott. You have no idea. It's so far beyond anything I'd ever imagined.”  
  
“Wow, he's that slick, huh?” Scott asks, snickering. “Should I be finding you two a cave to go lay eggs in?”  
  
Stiles slaps at Scott's fins, but he remembers Derek's offer. He's not actually that far from the truth. “He wants to build a house on the beach so we can be together.”  
  
Scott inhales so quickly his gills flap against the rough edge of the coral. He yelps and rubs at them. “What? Are you serious?”  
  
“Yeah, dude,” Stiles says. “He talked to me about it. Showed me what the house would look like and, like, checked to make sure I was cool with it.”  
  
“Are you?” Scott asks perceptively. “Cool with it?”  
  
Stiles doesn't answer him immediately. When he was at Derek's last night, he'd been all ready to pack his collection of pearls and move in, no questions asked. He felt alive and thrumming with energy, walking around on borrowed legs with borrowed time. Now, with water sliding between his scales and slipping through his lungs, he's feeling less confident. He has a life here. Six months ago, he'd never even seen an upwalker, and he'd been happy as anyone. Is he really prepared to give up his entire life to live with some guy?  
  
He's been quiet too long. “Stiles?” Scott asks. “Are you okay?”  
  
“I dunno,” Stiles says shakily. “God, Scott, what am I doing?”   
  
“Hey, hey, it's okay,” Scott says hastily. He rubs at Stiles' shoulder and Stiles leans into the touch. “Why don't you tell me about your date, okay? We don't have to talk about this now. You have time, buddy. Nothing's set in stone.”  
  
Stiles takes a fortifying breath and forces himself to relax. Scott's right, Stiles hasn't committed to anything yet, not really. And Derek will understand if Stiles needs times to think it over. Knowing Derek, he'd probably be thrilled to know that Stiles is giving it serious thought.  
  
“Stiles?”  
  
“Sorry,” Stiles says, collecting himself. “I was just thinking. It was fun, yeah.” The human world comes back to him in flashes of bright color and surprising heat. “It's warmer than down here, I guess. I mean, water doesn't really change temperature, you know? But up there... god, Scott. It's magic.”  
  
“Yeah?” Scott's eyes gleam with childish curiosity. “What was your favorite part?”  
  
Stiles feels his cheeks warm. If he tries, he can still feel the warmth of Derek pressed up against him, with impossibly hot hands lingering on his skin. “Well,” he hedges, voice cracking, “that's the thing.”  
  
Scott, the finsucker, silently prompts him to continue, eyes wide like a seal pup's.  
  
Stiles tries to drum up the words to explain sex. How had Derek described it? “I think it's how they procreate? But it's so different from our way, Scotty. They actually touch for it. A lot. And it feels...” Stiles sighs, “it's the best feeling I ever felt. Like someone is rubbing at your fins and your mating ridge both at once, but, like, _stronger_. And it builds and builds inside, then everything just bursts.” He fans his hands out dramatically.  
  
Scott swallows. “Whoa. And you did that with Derek?”  
  
“Yeah,” Stiles says, grinning bashfully. “Uh, twice.”  
  
“Dude!” Scott nudges their tails together. “Look at you! Man, I wish Allison and I could do that.”  
  
Stiles bites his lip. He would give Scott a sprig of Dremora in a second, but his dad made him promise not to share it with anyone or he'd take the privileges away. And, as much as he loves Scott, he's not sure he can trust him to watch the time limit. Scott gets carried away too easily for that. “I know, man. I'm sorry.”  
  
“Nah,” Scott says reassuringly. “I get it. No worries, bro. But that's not all you did, right?”  
  
Eager for the change in subject, Stiles throws himself into describing their date. He tells Scott about how humans wear clothes and how scratchy they feel against his skin. He tries to describe cars, but he's honestly not sure he understands them himself. Judging from Scott's growing confusion, Stiles decides to leave cars for another discussion. Maybe one that never actually occurs. He recounts how he had been so awestruck by it all that he almost started panicking, but Derek noticed and cancelled their plans so Stiles could adjust. He's a little embarrassed to tell his best friend that he got so overwhelmed from something so simple, but Scott seems to understand.  
  
When he gets to eating over the house plans, his breath catches in his throat. He remembers the shy way Derek had mentioned the project, and how tentative he'd been to ask Stiles about living with him. Derek had been so delicately eager to show Stiles all those pictures and charts. It was obvious how much time he'd put into planning everything out. He really wanted to make it work. He wanted to make _them_ work.   
  
Stiles wouldn't back out of that even if he wanted to, which he's beginning to realize isn't something he wants to do. If Derek wants this, Stiles wants it, too.  
  
“I'm going to do it,” he tells Scott. “I'm going to move into his house."  
  
It feels right. Stiles has friends and family here, but he always will. Moving to Derek's won't change that.   
  
"Good," Scott says.   
  
Stiles raises an eyebrow in surprise. "What, no 'Oh, Stiles, don't go! I'll miss you?' No 'The tribe won't be the same without you?' Wow, man. I'm a little hurt." He grins to show he's joking.  
  
Scott sticks his black tongue out at him. "You know what I mean. You've changed, dude. And if this upwalker makes you this happy, you should be with him. Like me and Allison."  
  
Stiles smiles at him, grateful. Leaving Scott behind is going to be his greatest struggle, he knows, but Scott's blessing makes leaving a little less scary. "Thanks, man. That means a lot."  
  
"Nah," Scott says, shrugging. "I'd be a shitty friend if I tried to stop you, right? And besides, if you move in, I get to visit. Tell me I get to visit."  
  
"Squid yeah, you do," Stiles says emphatically. "All the time! Oh, you'll love it, dude! I'll make Derek buy you pizza. It's my favorite. And you can meet Derek's friends!"  
  
"Fuck _yes_!" Scott exclaims, nodding. "They're all nightstalkers, right? I'd love that!" He beams but, slowly, his face drops. "So, uh, have you talked to your dad about it yet?"  
  
Stiles sobers. "No, not yet. I'm not sure what he'll think. I mean, he let me use the Dremora, but that's different from leaving home, you know? I have no idea how he'll take it. What if he bans me from leaving?"  
  
"Oh come on," Scott says, "you know your dad. He wouldn't do that. But you definitely should talk to him about it, and sooner rather than later."  
  
"Yeah," Stiles says, feeling heavy. Leaving his friends is one thing, but leaving his dad is another. He may be strict, but John is the only family Stiles has left. They've been a source of stability for each other since Stiles' mom died. "Yeah. Is it cool if—"  
  
"Let's go," Scott says, bronze eyes warm. "Race you back?"  
  
He's seriously the best friend ever. "You're on."  
  
By the time Stiles swims into the circle of massive rocks that denotes the tribal center, he has himself almost convinced that John will say no, point-blank, and there's no real point in asking. Almost. The only thing keeping him from turning around is knowing that if he did that, he'd be no better than Derek for leaving this relationship without checking first.   
  
"Stiles," John says, surprised. "I expected you to be gone all day."  
  
"Yeah, well," Stiles says, shoving his fins in the sand, "I wanted to talk to you about something."  
  
John tilts his head. Stiles rarely seeks John out actively, and when he does it's usually to beg permission for something. Or forgiveness, really. John must realize this is different, because he folds his arms over his chest and nods. "Okay, son. What's on your mind?"  
  
Stiles doesn't know what to do with his hands so he crosses his arms, too, before realizing how defensive it makes him look. He uncrosses them. "How's, you know, the leadership stuff going?"  
  
He's stalling, and they both know it. Luckily, John humors him. "It's fine. A delegate from the northern tribe came bearing a request for a meeting hosted here. Allison's father wants to see what kind of tribe we are. It's saltblood pageantry, all of it."   
  
Fucking saltbloods, thinking they're better than other merpeople. It's ridiculous. At least Allison seems nice. Or, at least, she doesn't subscribe to such old-fashioned beliefs.  
  
"That sucks," Stiles says, forgetting about his own troubles for the moment. "When do they get here?"  
  
"We haven't discussed that yet," John sighs. He looks tired. "Right now we're more in the 'Is this relationship between Allison and Scott going to last so long that we need to meet' phase. I think Chris is riding on the hope that Allison will come around, yet."  
  
If Allison is half as devoted to Scott as he is to her, there's no way she'll change her mind. "What do you think?"  
  
John snorts a gush of water that makes his gills flare. "I think if you and Scott put your stubbornness together, you could take down a Great White barehanded. That boy isn't giving her up. But as long as Chris has it in his head that he can dissolve this thing internally, we don't have to worry about a peace summit. I say, let him stew."  
  
See, that's the wisdom Stiles is lacking. Were he tribe leader, he'd have been totally upfront with Chris about Scott and Allison, and his feelings on the matter. He wouldn't think to let Chris come to the realization in his own time, and he might have started a war because of it. John, though, knows better.  
  
And he may know better about Stiles' issue, too. Stiles needs someone objective, someone outside looking in. He knows his dad may be biased about letting Stiles go, but he's had to make tough decisions for years. He'll know what to do.  
  
"Derek wants to build a house in that cove," Stiles says bluntly. "He wants me to move in."  
  
John rubs a hand over his face. "I figured something like this might happen. Stiles, you know it's impossible."  
  
"It isn't, though," Stiles insists. "We've talked it over. He showed me how he wants to build it and everything. I'm sure he'd be willing to show you, too, if you wanted. We could meet up at the cove and talk it out."  
  
John stays silent for a long time. Stiles picks at his claws and prepares himself for rejection. What would he do if he has to tell Derek no? Would Derek still build the house? Would they even be in a relationship anymore?   
  
Well, of course they would. Stiles doubts either of them would give up on their entire relationship over something like this. Sure, it'd put a crimp in the 'long term' part of their plans, but that's okay. They could work it out.  
  
Stiles tries to let that relieve him, but it doesn't. Stiles doesn't want to have to plan sporadic meet-ups for the rest of his life. He wants to see Derek every day. He wants this to be organic. And if Scott can mate with a saltblood from another tribe and risk inter-tribe rivalry in the process then, by Poseidon, Stiles can have this.  
  
He's all ready to argue when John finally speaks. "Okay."  
  
The fight bleeds out of Stiles in an instant. "What?"  
  
"I'm saying okay. Let's have a meeting. Let's discuss this. I know you, Stiles. You've already considered every argument I have against you. There's nothing I can say to change your mind, and I know from experience that there's no way I'll get you to do something against your will. And if it's a choice between letting my son go or forcing him to choose, I'd rather lose my son part of the time than lose him completely."  
  
Stiles is at a loss for words. "Dad, I... wow. Thank you."  
  
"Don't thank me yet," John warns him. "I agreed to a meeting, that's it. The cove has remained abandoned because no one has drawn attention to it yet. Now I don't know what goes into building a house, but I'd imagine it'll take more manpower than four nightstalkers can manage. When you tell Derek about this meeting, tell him that I expect details and schematics. General intent isn't gonna cut it."  
  
It's better than Stiles had ever hoped for. "Yeah, sure, definitely," he says, nodding. "Whatever you want, Dad, I'll make sure he does it. And hey! I'll make him bring food!"  
  
John looks pleased. "I haven't had human food in years. Tell him I want a bacon hamburger with onion rings."  
  
"Bacon hamburger, onion rings," Stiles repeats. "Got it."  
  
"Now get out of here," John says, uncrossing his arms. "Talk to your upwalker and plan the meeting. Oh, and tell him that we still need to have that talk."  
  
Stiles wants to tell his dad that it's too late for the sex talk, but he's smart enough to know that that's about the dumbest thing he could possibly do. "Okay!"  
  
John squints at him like he can tell what Stiles is thinking. He rolls his eyes. "Just get out of here, kid."  
  
Stiles doesn't think he's ever swum faster.  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I want to apologize for the lateness of this chapter. I feel awful about it, but there were technical difficulties, so it's late. The plan is still to post on Wednesdays, though my life is about to get crazy busy with university stuff, so that may change. I will, of course, keep you updated if anything forces me to deviate from schedule. :)
> 
> On a different but not unrelated note, this chapter has only been beta-read by backwards-blackbird. She says hi from her new digs at grad school. :)
> 
> SF&S now has over a THOUSAND kudos. You people are magical and I love you a lot.
> 
> Onto the reading!

It takes Derek half an hour to debrief his roommates on the changes Stiles made to the house plans. It takes ten times that to figure out how to make the changes possible.   
  
"We can't expose the interior of our house to the ocean," Boyd points out. "We'll have saltwater everywhere, not to mention sand fleas and whatever sea life decides to take roost. It'd be a catastrophe."  
  
"Our house would smell like fish all day long," Erica says. "We'd never be able to get the smell out. And on hot days our house will turn into a sauna."  
  
"What about storms or rough tides?" Isaac argues. "We can't have a situation where our living space gets flooded every time the weather acts up."  
  
They're all excellent points, and they make Derek confident he'll have gray hair before he hits thirty. It seems like every time they fix one problem, three more pop up in its place: the Hydra of home improvement.   
  
There are problems Derek can resolve and there are problems he hopes Stiles will help him fix. Giving up isn't an option, not when Stiles is so utterly thrilled to contribute. Derek has to make this work, and he will. He just isn't sure how, yet.  
  
Unfortunately, that isn't the only concern niggling at Derek's brain. Ever since their date, Derek's been thinking about that Dremora plant and how it works. He's no scientist, sure, but he knows it has to be immensely taxing for a body to undergo a fundamental change like that. The werewolf shift is a part of his blood, and he still feels tired after shifting. He can't imagine what it's doing to Stiles to get legs for a few hours.  
  
And Derek can't help but remember John's lecture. " _The more time you use it, the more time you lose._ " Every time Stiles uses the Dremora, his lifespan drops. Derek doesn't know how much. John said something about aging as a human while living as a human, but to what extent? If Stiles ate the stuff continually, would he die at eighty, like a human? Or even sooner from the continued stress of having your body rip itself apart? Derek knows merfolk live for a long time, but that's no excuse; he can't have Stiles slowly killing himself for the sake of their relationship. He can't stand the idea that he's, yet again, killing someone with his love.  
  
He knows it's different from losing his family. He's not quite that obtuse, though he knows most of his friends would love to disagree. But, different or not, the endgame is still the same. Stiles dies before his time. Derek can't have that. But, by the same token, he agreed to stop drawing conclusions by himself, especially when they impact his relationship with Stiles. That's a promise he intends to keep. And if he can come to Stiles with house-related questions, he can come to him with this.   
  
The next time they meet is a Thursday afternoon, after one of Derek's shifts as a lifeguard. Derek brings bananas and trail mix; like it or not, Stiles has to learn to appreciate healthy food if he's going to be around all the time. He can't eat junk everyday, and Derek can't expect him to follow a healthy diet if all he knows is pizza and chocolate.   
  
He arrives early on purpose to go swimming. It helps clear his mind and cool down his anxiety. Stroke by stroke he strips through the water, at first athletically but slowly calming into a languorous drift. He ends up floating on the waves face up, letting the tide rock him peacefully. He can't believe he was ever scared of the water, not when it's given him so much these past few months. He doesn't know what his life would be like without it. No job, no house, no Stiles, no friends... where would he be? Withering away in some mechanic's garage somewhere, coming home to a hole-in-the-wall apartment with only roaches to keep him company? No thanks.   
  
He can sense Stiles' approach and knows that must be intentional. Stiles could sneak up on him easily if he wanted to; making a commotion shows he is being considerate.   
  
Derek rights himself and shakes water out of his ears. "Hey."  
  
"Hey," Stiles replies. He swims in close, so his fins swish against Derek's legs every few seconds. "I don't usually see you out here."  
  
Derek shrugs and wraps his arms around Stiles' middle. "Swimming helps me think."  
  
"You're thinking? Should I be worried?" Stiles teases, sliding his hands up Derek's arms. Derek's skin alights and he can't resist the urge to reel Stiles in for a kiss. Stiles responds eagerly, moving closer and closer until he's in between Derek's legs, supporting them both with slow, powerful flicks of his tail. Derek is reminded again of how predatory Stiles can be, especially in the water like this. Derek's wrapped around a killing machine. Fuck, but that turns him on. He links his ankles behind Stiles' back and grinds into the hard plane of scales. Stiles moans and moves his hands down to cup Derek's ass.  
  
"Are you gonna get yourself off on me?" he asks, reedy voice pitched low. "Rub up against me until you come all over yourself?" Derek shudders hard and bites at his cheeks to avoid coming on the spot. He'd never imagined Stiles as a dirty talker before. That's a waste of valuable fantasy time, right there.   
  
Stiles traces tiny claws up his sides and slides them back down, pulling at his ass again. The pleasure-pain sparks hot and Derek grinds on Stiles to relieve some of the tension building in his cock. "I want you to do it, you know," Stiles says conversationally, as if he isn't driving Derek up the wall with his every touch. "I want to see you come all over yourself."  
  
His eyes spark and he grins. "Or, better yet...." He kisses Derek and slithers down under the water. Derek feels him tug at the waistband of his trunks and nearly sinks beneath the surface, because _is Stiles seriously about to go down on him underwater?_  
  
Derek feels a slick, cool hand glide along his cock and an equally cool tongue lick at his slit. He does sink under the water then, but Stiles grips his hips and suddenly staying above water is effortless. Stiles must be holding him up. Fuck, that's sexy.   
  
Stiles, now that his hands are occupied, suckles at the head of Derek's cock like it's his job. He bobs further and further down  on each stroke until Derek feels himself hit the back of Stiles' throat. He chokes on his own saliva and sinks his fingers into Stiles' spiny hair in encouragement. Stiles hums around him— a sonorous, lilting sound that Derek's supersensitive hearing barely catches above the sound of the surf— and nudges his head more firmly into Derek's hold. He wants Derek to take the lead. _Fuck._ Derek massages Stiles' scalp to double-check that yes, that's what Stiles wants. In answer he gets another moan and some kind of suction that makes him see stars.   
  
"Jesus," he gasps, clenching into Stiles's hair. He coaxes Stiles into a rhythm, careful not to choke him but brisk enough to feel good. Or, rather, feel amazing. Fuck, where did Stiles learn how to do this? Is he some kind of mythical blowjob god that Derek's never heard of? Should Derek be praying right now, or something?   
  
Under Derek's admittedly shaky guidance, Stiles picks up his rhythm and learns to drag his tongue on the vein along the underside of Derek's dick on every upstroke. Derek feels a knot curl low in his spine and taps Stiles' head warningly. He's going to come. Stiles releases another of his strangely melodic moans and sucks even harder, and Derek comes so hard his vision whites. Pulse after pulse squeezes out of him and into Stiles' mouth, and Derek wants to come again when he realizes that Stiles is swallowing it all underwater.   
  
Stiles's grip on his hips loosens and he pops up above the water. As soon as he's able, Derek lunges forward and licks into Stiles' mouth, groaning at the combined taste of saltwater and his own release. His wolf nearly cries with how good it tastes. Stiles smiles into the kiss, utterly content, and combs his delicate claws through Derek's hair.   
  
"Teach me how to do that for you," Derek demands. "Show me how to please you."  
  
Stiles stills in his hold. "I mean, you don't have to," he says awkwardly. "We don't really have an equivalent. I'm fine. We can just wait until the next time I find some Dremora to eat."  
  
That settles uneasily in Derek. For the first time, Stiles looks uncomfortable in his own body, like he's embarrassed about his own physiology. Derek dislikes that. Has he made Stiles feel inadequate? Has his delight over Stiles' human body incited some sort of inner turmoil?  
  
Moreover, Derek doesn't want to encourage Stiles to become dependent on Dremora for anything, least of all something as non-essential as sex. Stiles is paying for orgasms in years, and that to Derek is ludicrous.   
  
"No," Derek says, running the tips of his fingers along the seam where smooth skin puckers into scales. "No, Stiles, I want to know about you as much as you know about me. I don't care if it's different. Show me how to please you _as_ you."  
  
He must have said the right thing, because the next thing he knows he has two armfuls of happy, wriggling merman. "Okay," Stiles says, hiding his smile into Derek's shoulder. "Let's get to shore and I'll show you."  
  
Swimming alongside a merperson is a singly humbling experience. Derek knows he's graceful in the water, but he's a fumbling fool next to Stiles, who is one perfectly streamlined curve of solid muscle. Derek nearly drowns trying to watch him out of the corner of his eye. Stiles, to his everlasting credit, pretends not to notice.  
  
When they reach the shore, Stiles props himself out of the sand just enough that he won't get carried away by the gentle tide. Derek stretches out next to him and kisses the webs between his fingers.  
  
"Well, you're off to a good start," Stiles comments, biting at his lips. "Webs are one of our places."  
  
Derek presses tiny kisses up Stiles arm until he reaches Stiles' mouth. He tastes of clean saltwater everywhere, and Derek licks the tang from his lips. "Alright, where else?"  
  
"Fuck," Stiles says, "we're really doing this?"  
  
"We're really doing this."  
  
"Okay." Stiles swallows and his gills, closed, flutter against his skin. "Well, you already know about the mating ridge. Remember, you found it after you almost drowned?"  
  
Derek does remember, but he tilts his lips thoughtfully anyway. "Reacquaint me?"  
  
Stiles grins and rolls his eyes. "You're a jerk. But fine." He rolls onto his side and jabs a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll tell you when you find it."  
  
Derek doesn't wait to tease him. He goes straight for the small ridge between Stiles' shoulder blades and rubs hard. Stiles shouts and shudders hard.   
  
"You... absolute... tool," he manages between gasps. "You're mean and I don't like you."  
  
Derek leans down and presses a soft kiss to the bump, followed by a quick nip. "Liar. Where else?"  
  
"I don't, though," Stiles says, "it's just shrouded by this cloud of liking you. It's a pervasive cloud, I can understand how you'd get confused. My fins, especially right along the tips. And that's kind of it."  
  
Derek raises his eyebrow. "You don't have a penis?"  
  
Stiles turns red and shrugs. "Not really."  
  
Derek knows he's being a little insensitive, but he's insanely curious. "But then how do you, uh, you know...?"  
  
Stiles fidgets on the sand. "Do you want a play-by-play, or...?"  
  
"Whatever you're comfortable sharing, I guess," Derek says. He doesn't want to needle at Stiles' obvious self-consciousness. If Stiles doesn't want to tell him, that's fine, but he'd really like to understand Stiles better.  
  
Stiles sighs. "No, it's fine," he says, as if he can read Derek's mind. "It's just... it doesn't really measure up to human mating rituals, you know? So you'll probably think it's stupid."  
  
"Hey." Derek leans down and kisses Stiles gently. "You're not stupid. Your race isn't stupid. You're beautiful, okay? Your mating rituals won't change that."  
  
Stiles nods. "Okay. Well, uh, a merman and a mermaid meet— or, you know, two mermen or mermaids, but they can't really mate properly— anyway, a merman and a mermaid meet, and they go on dates and stuff to get to know each other. They hunt with each other and learn how to depend on each other to take down big prey, because that's important when you're raising a family. If the dating process goes well, and they get permission from the tribe leader, they can go off to find a cave to live in together. Or, if one of them already lives alone, the other can just move in. It's all kind of situation-dependent, you know. But, uh, they find a cave, and they nest it super soft with sponges and shredded seaweed and stuff, whatever they can find. Once the nest is ready, the mermaid lays down a bunch of, um, eggs, and the merman comes in and, you know, makes them babies."  
  
Derek's tongue feels too big for his mouth. He stares at Stiles blankly. "What?"  
  
Stiles turns an even darker red. "I know! I know. It's weird. Sex is way better, I know. We won't talk about it again, it's fine."  
  
That unsticks Derek's mind. "Hey, no, come on," he says. "I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I'm just surprised at how little contact there is. So, the guy just comes in and, uh, fertilizes them? All at once?"  
  
"Yeah," Stiles says. "It's, I don't know, something the mermaid releases into the water beforehand, it just makes the merman, uh, shoot his load."  
  
"Pheromones," Derek says. At last, something they have in common. "That's what she releases. Everyone has them, but most noses aren't sensitive enough to recognize them as scents. Werewolves can, though."  
  
"Pheromones," Stiles repeats, testing the word out on his tongue. "Do I have them? What do pheromones smell like?"  
  
Derek mulls the question over. "It's hard to say," he says. "I've never had a human's nose, so I'm not sure what the differences are. They smell like... intent. Like, when you're scared you release a chemical, and I smell it and it smells like fear. Or when you're really angry, or really sad, or any of it. The brain runs on all these chemicals, and I can scent them all. Pheromones included. And yeah, you definitely have them."  
  
"So wait, do I smell different from humans?" Stiles asks, self-consciousness completely forgotten. "Because I'm, you know, half-fish?"  
  
Derek sniffs at him, and Stiles manfully stays still for it. "You do smell a little different," Derek replies, "but the chemical changes still make sense, I guess? Like, the scents are a little off, but they work the same way with each other, so it still makes instinctual sense in my head."  
  
"Whoa," Stiles says. "That's... that's really cool, Derek. I bet that's so useful."  
  
"Can be," Derek says. "Or it can tell you too much too soon. Sometimes I'd rather figure a person out than have their scents tell me so much. There's more of a puzzle that way."  
  
"Okay, Mr. Romance," Stiles says, rolling his eyes. Derek retaliates by sliding both hands down the delicate fins just below his hips, thumbing the thin edges. "Wow, fuck, _okay_ , Mr. Romance."  
  
Derek grins. "Just so we're clear," he says, smoothing his thumbs over Stiles' scales, "I don't care if you lay eggs, have babies, or divide mitotically. You are the way you are, and I'm happy with that. But you need to be happy with that, too, okay? You and I are different, but we're not better or worse than the other."  
  
"I just don't want you to think I'm weird," Stiles says quietly, shrugging.   
  
"Don't you think I'm weird?" Derek asks, raising an eyebrow. "Between the two of us, only one transforms into an instinct-driven beast with fangs and glowing eyes."  
  
"Yeah," Stiles says, "but that's sexy as fuck."  
  
That's news to Derek. "Yeah?"  
  
"You kidding?" Stiles snorts. "You could scare off any shark with those fangs, and those eyes would probably be the stuff of storysong."  
  
"Storysong?"  
  
"Yeah," Stiles says, "uh, it's how we share stories of our old times. Because, you know, we don't have movies."  
  
Derek kisses his shoulder. Stiles' culture is endlessly intriguing, and he only hopes that he'll continue to learn about it for the rest of his life. "We didn't always have movies. Before technology, we told our stories by word-of-mouth, too, but we called them epic poems."  
  
"Right, whatever." Stiles scratches at his skin and scoots into the water to splash water over himself. "I'm trying to tell you you're hot, okay? I wish you would focus on my complimenting you. It takes a lot for me to find nice things to say about your ugly mug, you know. The least you could do is take notice."  
  
Derek laughs and kisses Stiles long and slow in apology. "I'm sorry. Please, extol my virtues. I'm listening now."  
  
"Thanks," Stiles sniffs. "As I was saying, your nightstalker-ness would be really useful in a tribe, and, I dunno, that's really sexy. Like you'd be good at protecting me. And I'm no simpering mermaid in a shell bra, mind, but I can appreciate feeling protected."  
  
"Mm," Derek says, "I think you could totally rock a shell bra. Just saying."  
  
"In your dreams, fangface."  
  
Derek imagines Stiles in a shell bra, back arched and wanton, and thinks it'll definitely be the stuff of a few of his dreams. Specifically the kind where he wakes up biting at his pillow and humping the bed like a bitch in heat.  
  
"Oh, Poseidon," Stiles sighs, "I know that look. Please don't actually dream about that."  
  
"Too late."  
  
Stiles rolls his eyes. "Well, thanks. Now, if you're done being an asshole, I'd like to talk about serious stuff."  
  
"Serious stuff, huh?" Derek asks, tapping his fingertips along a series of dark spots on Stiles' side. He's covered in spots, like a person might be covered in moles, Derek assumes, but this collection is his favorite. "What kinds of serious stuff?"  
  
"I talked to my dad about the house."  
  
Oh. _Serious stuff._ Derek swallows and shifts down so he can look Stiles in the eye. "Okay. Well, I'm guess it didn't go too badly, considering you didn't tell me immediately."  
  
"No, yeah," Stiles hurries to say, "it's fine. Mostly. Well, he's not happy, but he knows that if he forces me to choose, he'd be even less happy, so he's allowing it."  
  
 _Even less happy._ Because Stiles wouldn't be choosing John, if he were made to choose. He'd pick Derek. Jesus Christ.  
  
"Wow," Derek stutters, blinking quickly to collect himself. "That's, uh, good. That he's allowing it, I mean."  
  
"Yeah," Stiles says, "but he wants to have a meeting first. Like an official one. He wants to hear about the house plans in detail. He wants to know if you'll expose us."  
  
That's a very realistic concern. As much as Derek wants to keep the building to just him and his roommates, he knows he'll need more hands to do a lot of the work. There's just no way for four people to build an entire house with no help, not when they need electricity, internet, waterproof building materials, and who knows what else. Plus, Derek has a "Who Knows What Else" category because he simply doesn't know what goes into taking a pile of wood and metal and turning it into a home. It's a massive undertaking, and Derek can fully understand why John wants to talk.  
  
"Okay," he says. "That's more than fair. I can pull together all the papers and try to consolidate them into a comprehensive file. When does he want to meet?"  
  
"That's kind of up to you," Stiles says, "but I'm assuming soon, so we can start building. Can you get the stuff together quickly?"  
  
Derek puffs out a breath. "I have a lot of details to figure out still," he admits. "I was hoping you'd be able to help me sort through some of them. I just need a fresh set of eyes, I think. I can't guarantee I'll have everything sorted out by the time your father wants to have this meeting, though."  
  
Stiles rolls over onto his stomach and plays with his bangles Derek gave him when they first met. By now, they are nothing more than thin bands of black plastic. "I don't think you need to worry so much," he says. "Granted, I don't know all the things my dad's seen or done, but I doubt he knows the ins and outs of upwalker home construction. He just wants to make sure you aren't doing all of this on a whim. Show him your pictures and words, act confident, and you'll be fine. Oh, and bring hamburgers. Dad wants something called a 'bacon cheeseburger with onion rings.' Does that make sense?"  
  
Derek nods and feels worry he hadn't even noticed calm in the pit of his stomach. "So, next week, then? That'll give me time to get things sorted, hopefully. And, if you're willing, I really would like your input on some things."  
  
"Sure." Stiles rests his chin on crossed arms. "But it'll cost you whatever's in that bag."  
  
Derek only now remembers that he brought food. He smiles. "Done."  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mermaid sex! Now you know! I know a few of you were interested. I know that's kind of disappointing, but that's how a lot of fish mate, and I wanted to keep things as biologically accurate as possible.
> 
> That brings me to another note: I have been informed that fish don't have gills AND lungs unless they're lungfish (which are aptly named). I am going to use my magical writing powers to tell you that merfolk have both, but their lungs are only functional when they breathe air. The rest of the time, the water filters through the lungs— and they absorb some oxygen— but most of the respirating is done with the gills. Adversely, the gills close and are useless above the surface. Boom, miracle fix. 
> 
> (This story just hit 40,000 words, by the way. I'm not good at long stories, so I'm kind of dying. I'm working on it.)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys. I am so, so, so sorry. This is DAYS late. Long story short, Ilovesocks_24 is no longer a part of this story. The only beta reader is Megan (backwards-blackbird) from this point forward.
> 
> Additional bad news: after this chapter, Part of Your World is going on indefinite (but short) hiatus. I can't give you a return date, but I'll only be gone a couple weeks or so. It's just, Megan has grad school starting and I have my senior year of undergrad kicking into gear, and my life is way too chaotic to promise regular updates. I WILL return shortly, I promise. Hell, at my current posting rate, you might not even notice I've left. HA.
> 
> As recompense, [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nfSPIOaL168) is a video of me singing "Part of Your World." I'm actually pretty involved in music IRL, so I thought that this might be a tiny consolation for everything.
> 
> You guys are the best. Read on!

Stiles does have some suggestions for the house, but there are still several problems Derek can't resolve. Frustrated and slightly panicked— he meets with John in three days, and despite Stiles' flippant attitude, Derek really wants this meeting to go perfectly— Derek calls the only other person he can trust: Laura.  
  
"Baby bro! Can't say I expected this call."  
  
"Hey, Laura." This is the first time he's called her, instead of the other way around, in years. "I need advice."  
  
"Doth mine ears deceive me? Dost mine little brother beseech upon my ear the toils of his self-imposed solitude?"  
  
"Fuck off," Derek snorts. He can't help but be amused. "Seriously, Laur. I could really use your help. You were going to rebuild the old house a few years ago, weren't you?"  
  
Laura quiets on the other end of the line. "Yeah, I was. Why do you ask?"  
  
"Did you, by chance, study up on home repair or anything?"  
  
"Shit, Der," Laura hisses, "what happened? Are the other betas okay?"  
  
"No, yeah, they're fine," Derek hurries to say. "Laura, everything's fine. I want to build a house."  
  
The line is silent for long minutes. "Okay," Laura says slowly, "first you call me voluntarily, then you ask for my help, and now you're building a house? Are you a pod person? Am I talking to an alien that stole my brother's voice? I demand him back, you hear me?"  
  
"Laura," Derek snaps, "come on. Quit fucking around. I wouldn't be calling if I wasn't desperate."  
  
He instantly regrets the words. "Fuck, I didn't mean it that way. You know I love you. I'm just really tired of staring at blueprints and dumb charts that tell me that this is easy when it isn't."  
  
Laura is silent on the other end, and Derek fears he really offended her. Laura, like their mother, is slow to anger but unstoppable once kicked into gear. The last thing Derek needs right now is a furious sister, on top of all of his other current worries.  
  
Finally she sighs, and Derek, too, releases a breath. "It's okay," she says. "I'm sorry for being a jerk. What do you need?"  
  
Derek rubs a hand over his eyes and looks at the piles of papers strewn over his unusably full dining room table. His largest concern, at least for the moment, is making an entrance for Stiles in the floor of the living area. "Do you know of any way to build a surface that is weather-proof, durable, and easily opened or closed?"  
  
Laura snorts. "You mean like a window?"  
  
"Yeah, but—" Derek freezes. "That's perfect." They could build a glass section of the floor that retracts under the floorboards. It would clasp shut and lock when the water got rough or when Stiles was away for a while, and it could open as soon as Stiles came back. It's mind-numbingly obvious. "Laura, you're a genius."  
  
"Is that what it takes to be a genius?" Laura laughs. "Well, hell, I should have done this years ago. Damn. Is Yale still accepting applications, do you think?"  
  
Derek grins. He's just had a stroke of genius of his own. "You're too good for them, Laura. But I hear UCLA has a few summer classes opening up."  
  
Laura sucks in a breath. "Derek?"  
  
"Come back to California," Derek suggests, giddy. "There's someone I want you to meet." He has to talk to Stiles about it, of course, but he knows Stiles would be overjoyed to meet Derek's sister. "We can empty out a room. Can you get time off work?"  
  
Laura sniffles and Derek realizes the impact of his request. They haven't seen each other since Derek's abrupt and unpleasant trip to New York eight years ago. "Don't worry about it," she says. "You just tell me when you want me, Der."  
  
Derek tenses his shoulders and waits for a bolt of guilt to hit him. It doesn't come. All he can feel is nerves and excitement. "Soon," he replies. "Whenever you can."  
  
Laura lets out a shaky breath. "Okay. I can do that."  
  
"See you soon, Laura."  
  
The phone rustles. "See you soon, baby bro."  
  
Three hours later he gets a text: _It's handled. See you the eighteenth?_  
  
Derek swallows. _I'll have Erica and Boyd clear out a room for you._  
  
Something clicks into place in Derek's chest. Laura's coming home.  
  
  
Consolidating all of Derek's papers into one portable file is difficult. It's not that Derek has so much information he can't possibly condense it all; it's that he has no idea _how._ Do all the materials sort together, or should he organize by room? Does he store the blueprints by floor or by relevance to Stiles' life? Should he bring some of Stiles' beloved shiny trinkets? How does one appease the leader of an underwater tribe of people?  
  
Two hours before the meeting, Derek flops into a chair in the dining room and stares at the ceiling. He can't do this. He has no idea what he's doing. He's trying to solve a Rubik's cube in the dark. He's going to meet John, and the merman will just _know_ that Derek's completely incapable of following through with his promises, and he'll decide that Stiles has no business being with an idiot like Derek. It's that simple.  
  
"Jesus fucking Christ, I can smell you moping from my room," Isaac grumbles, slumping into the chair opposite. "Why don't you just ask for help like a normal person? Aren't we all supposed to be there, anyway?"  
  
Derek blinks at the crack in the ceiling. "It's no use. It's a mess, all of it."  
  
"Yeah, alright, Heathcliff," Isaac retorts. "Tell you what: how about you stop being a butthurt romantic hero and start preparing for this thing like an actual human being? I swear to god." He shuffles papers around and starts stacking them into order, all while muttering something about "self-flagellating assholes."  
  
Derek watches Isaac for a few minutes before starting piles of his own. He sorts by category (foundation, architecture, interior design, etc.) and then by room within the categories. It's embarrassingly easy.  
  
Erica comes in from her morning shift an hour later, followed shortly afterby Boyd. They shower and join Derek and Isaac. Together, they talk over plans and solidify everything, and they head for the cove, after making a pitstop at a burger joint for John's cheeseburger and onion rings.  
  
Derek also brings a roll of aluminum foil, remembering how Stiles had called it "useful." With any luck, John will feel the same.  
  
John and Stiles are already there when the werewolves jump down off the cliff's edge. Derek wipes sweaty palms on the thighs of his nicest pair of shorts. His backpack crammed full of papers seems nothing short of clunky and unprofessional. "Hello again, sir."  
  
"Derek," John replies, nodding his head. "And Derek's friends, too."  
  
"Yes, sir," Derek says. Wasn't he supposed to bring them? Stiles had made it sound like John wanted as much information as possible, and everyone had worked on putting this together.  
  
"Good," John says. "Have a seat, let's talk. I have a tribe to get back to."  
  
Derek's breath catches and the cove suddenly reeks of adrenaline. His three roommates are just as nervous as he is.  
  
Stiles, bless him, rolls his eyes. "You do not," he says to John. "Come on, Dad. Give them a chance before you shred their scales."  
  
John glares at his son and opens his mouth, but Isaac interrupts him. "We brought burgers."  
  
John visibly perks, and his resemblance to Stiles is suddenly uncanny. "Bacon cheeseburgers?"  
  
"With onion rings," Erica confirms.  
  
"Well, alright, then," John says, clearly pleased and trying to hide it under a veil of gruffness. "I suppose I can postpone my meetings for a little while."  
  
Stiles bites his lips to hide a grin, and the air in the cove relaxes. Derek takes a seat near the water, next to Stiles, and the other betas circle around and plop onto the sand. Isaac opens the bag and offers John a burger, and Derek's never seen someone tear into food so quickly.  
  
Stiles eyes the burger speculatively. "How healthy are burgers?" he mutters to Derek.  
  
"Not very," Derek replies, biting into his own burger. Say what he would about John, but the guy had great taste in foods. Derek hadn't had a bacon cheeseburger in months. "Why?"  
  
"That finsucker," Stiles sighs. "He had an episode a few years back and Deaton warned him to stop eating blubber and fatty fish. Does he listen? No, of course he doesn't. It's like stealing a piranha's tooth, trying to keep him on a diet."  
  
Derek offers his burger, and Stiles takes a bite. "Okay, never mind," Stiles says around a mouthful of food. "I want three of these."  
  
"So, Mister, uh, John," Erica starts, "I have to ask: your scales are green, while Stiles' are red. Is that common? I mean, I kind of assumed that tail color was genetic, like passed from parent to child, you know, but green and red are opposites on the color wheel. Is there, like, a pattern to these things, or is it random?"  
  
John swallows an onion ring and gives her question some thought. "I haven't really thought about it," he says. "But you're right, tail colors seem to run in the family. Stiles' mother was bright red, just like Stiles."  
  
"She was beautiful," Stiles says softly. "Her fins were so big. When we're little, we swim under our parents so they can keep an eye on us, and I always tried to swim belly-up so I could watch her fins in the sunlight."  
  
John gives Stiles a sad smile. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't do that a few times myself." He clears his throat and chews on another onion ring. "Stiles' friend Scott inherited Melissa's burgundy, and his father's bronze. It also depends on where you're from. Deaton, for example, is originally from a tribe in the Caribbean. His scales and skin are much lighter than ours to match the water and sand. It's only in ocean tribes like ours that you see colors like this. We can breed for beauty instead of camouflage."  
  
Boyd grins. "That's funny. On land, people from tropical climates are darker because we're in the sun so much, and the pigment helps protect us. So mermaids have races, too?"  
  
Stiles shrugs. "Maybe. Melissa, Scott's mom, is from a tribe to the south and her skin's a little darker, but that's about all we know. Merpeople don't usually stray so far from home. The ocean's a big place."  
  
Isaac picks apart a curly fry and eats it in sections. "Man, what I wouldn't give to be able to see how you guys live. It must be incredible."  
  
Stiles and John have a silent conversation involving raised eyebrows. "Not really," Stiles says. "I think you're curious about the novelty of it, but we're not that impressive."  
  
"False," Derek says. "Your world is complex and fascinating. Deal with it."  
  
Stiles sticks his tongue out at him. "Whatever, fangface."  
  
John balls up the wrapper of his burger. "Well, if we're about ready, I think it's time we go over that house of yours."  
  
Derek unloads his backpack and spreads the stacks of paper across the sand, and his nerves return full force. He swallows past them. There's no time for that now, not in front of John. He can fake confidence for Stiles.  
  
It goes... surprisingly well. John asks a series of probing questions, but the werewolves are prepared to answer all of them. Stiles was right: John doesn't know a lot about building houses, and his questions don't even touch the details that Derek lingered over obsessively. He's clearly unhappy with the idea of having any type of construction crew near the cove, but he understands the need to make sure some things are professionally done. Derek doesn't want to let himself feel too confident, but John seems reluctantly impressed by it all. At the very least, he isn't saying no, and that's all Derek wants.  
  
Stiles loves the retractable glass floor idea, but he very clearly states that he wants to be able to open and close it from beneath the surface. It makes the mechanism more complicated, but the desire is totally justified: if Stiles is living with Derek, he should be able to get into his own home.  
  
Stiles also has a conversation with John about building a merperson-friendly living space under the water, so he can sleep and store his belongings in comfort. As far as Derek's concerned, they can do whatever they want beneath the house, as long as it doesn't disrupt the underlying foundation. He readily offers to buy them any kind of building supplies they need and blushes when Stiles sends him a look that says " _I will pay you back in non-monetary but fully rewarding ways_."  
  
It's a really good look on him.  
  
John obviously tries to put Derek through the ringer, but Derek can tell that he's also a little excited. "Let's say this works out," he says, "and you four can build a house in this cove. Would you be willing to open your home to other merpeople, as well?"  
  
"What?" Isaac says. " _Other_ merpeople?"  
  
"As in guests?" Boyd continues, leaning forward.  
  
"As in daily visits from Stiles' friends and family?" Erica asks, eyes alight.  
  
Derek bites the inside of his cheek. "I think they're trying to say yes."  
  
"Hell yeah, I'm saying yes," Erica exclaims. "You're seriously offering me the chance to hang out with _mermaids_."  
  
"I'd love to hear more about your culture," Boyd agrees. "I'm in."  
  
"And you, Derek?" John asks.  
  
Derek doesn't mean to stay silent. Seriously, he doesn't. But he's trying his hardest to get over his hangups about pulling Stiles from his home, and meeting the people he's made Stiles abandon might do more harm than good.  
  
But if they're visiting, has Stiles really abandoned them? This way, Stiles won't feel like Derek's house is separate from his life underwater, and it might make transitioning away from the tribe a lot easier. Plus, like his friends already stated, _mermaids_.  
  
Stiles' brow has pinched in worry, meaning Derek took a moment too long to think it over. "Definitely," Derek says, giving Stiles a reassuring smile. "This is Stiles' home, too. He has every right to bring home guests. We'd all love to meet more of your people."  
  
Stiles wriggles in the sand the way a child bounces from foot to foot in glee. "Oh, this is going to be so awesome, Der, you just wait. Scott'll be pumped to hear that you guys can finally meet."  
  
"Me too," Derek replies. It would be great to put faces to the names Stiles keeps dropping. "Speaking of meeting people, I invited my sister to spend some time here over the summer. I was hoping she could meet Stiles, but I wanted to clear it with you first. I know we're already bending your laws a lot."  
  
Derek hasn't told his roommates about the call yet but, luckily,  all they do is send him surprised looks. He knows he'll have to give them an explanation later, and he dreads that conversation. They know how stilted things have been between the two Hale siblings, and their questions will undoubtedly fringe on uncomfortable territory.  
  
"Is she like you?" John asks. "A nightstalker?"  
  
"Yes, she is," Derek says, nodding. "In fact, she's my Alpha."  
  
"Oh, no way!" Stiles says. "So she can turn into that big wolf thing? She's totally invited to this party."  
  
John sighs. "You really want to live with him?" he jokes dryly to Derek. "You're sure?" He doesn't wait for Derek to answer, which is good because Derek can only come up with sappy answers. "I can't say I'm comfortable with more up walkers finding out about our existence, but she's your family, and I can't ask you to keep secrets from your own blood."  
  
It's not an enthusiastic yes, but Derek understands the importance of keeping secrets all too well. He knows by now that Kate knew about his lycanthropy from the start and groomed him for intel, but he can't ignore that his loose lips cost his family their lives. "Sir, you don't know me that well, but I'm not one for sacrificing safety like that. Laura is trustworthy, and she's the only other person I planned on telling."  
  
"And you?" John says, turning to the other three werewolves. "Surely you have social lives. Will you be having humans in the house?"  
  
Erica grins ruefully. "We're a pretty reclusive bunch. Isaac has Danny, but that's about it for us. No worries here."  
  
John scrubs saltwater on the back of his neck. "Good. Well, I think that just about settles it. Give us advance notice when you have humans coming in and we'll be sure to stay away. I'm sure you'll be able to work with Stiles on that. But for now, I have a tribe to get back to. Stiles?"  
  
"I'll be right behind you."  
  
"Alright, then," John says. He nods to each werewolf and shoves off into the water.  
  
"So," Stiles says, "when do we start?"  
  
Derek grins. "As soon as we can."  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or, at least, as soon as I can get my shit together. Sorry, Der-Bear.
> 
> I'm so sorry again. I didn't want this to happen, but sometimes life is life. 
> 
> You're welcome to follow my tumblr (jenetica.tumblr.com), and I'll try to post some updates on the hiatus as I go. And maybe rant about people abandoning fandoms in a really unprofessional way. Who knows? I don't post much there, though, so if you really want to meet me, my personal is themurderfamilybusiness. That's where I spend most of my Tumblr time.
> 
> See you in a few weeks. Stay safe out there!

**Author's Note:**

> The fic is currently on temporary hiatus! Give me a few.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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